Thursday, November 1

Without

The old clock on the wall makes resounding tick-tocks all the way from the living room, to the kitchen, to the bathroom, to the bedroom, reminding me that time is passing, minutes come and go and I am without.

My mind is reasoning with me, I'm arguing with myself for the millionth time, but I can't put my fears away, and all this time lets me dig them out, pick them up and study them up close. The more I study, the bigger they become, until they take up all the room in this apartment, they grow in record time, from a little, shriveled seed hidden away to filling the space between all the walls.
Until they choke me.

They color my white space black. It starts with a cloud of gray that spreads like cancer, that lets me wallow in egocentric misery and self-pity. This destruction of what is beautiful always goes too far, and I poison everything I touch with it.
I can't help it. I'm trying to help it.

I know we can't always be truthful. Honesty is a double-edged sword. If you told me about the places you miss and the people you've thought of, would it make things better? Would it help anything, would it chase away the darkness that holds nothing but fear?
These things we tell people, I suppose there is some truth in it, and some lies too.
Wanting to make them feel better. Realizing there were good things that are sometimes missed. And that's okay.

Do you miss me?
-No.
I suppose no one ever replies with such honesty. Or maybe we always miss someone. Anyone. Or everyone.

Words are empty, maybe that's true. But they hold all these fears. They awaken them, bring them out from their corners and into my space.
Wishing for clean slates. Wanting to read you like an open book.
When night turns to day, I have stayed up, fighting the dark. And I think I've won again, I think it's all back inside of me, and I can keep it there for another little while. Maybe someday the cage will be time-proof.

We close our eyes for a moment, I trace your skin and imagine that no one ever felt like this before.
No one ever did. And everyone did.


Disappoint

I can see you so clearly sometimes, and it breaks my heart.
Your pretending, my disappointment.
I know what you tell them.
You'll never be happy, you are never happy, you want to run away.
I want the truth from you, but we probably wouldn't survive it.

I wish you could be happy. And I wish I knew you.