You exist when I feel most alone, when I’m cooking dinner or scrolling through my phone. You sit while I complete my mundane tasks; you don’t say much but sometimes we laugh to help time pass.
Your presence, though it is not much, is more than enough because you somehow never judge. Your impartial silence is more to me than a disapproving voice or a heavy hand throwing my gentle thoughts around my scattered mind. It is only when I sit so alone, outside my window, watching the world go by that I have to come to the realisation that you are nothing but my imagination.
Like a strange fixation, a game my psyche has made up to keep me sane. Only existing because of the chemical imbalances inside my brain. And that is where you live, in between the unorganised wires. You sit quietly. You make me question myself. My want for love.
Maybe each time that I fantasise about you, it is not about love. I believe it never has been -rather my desire to finally be seen, because love is the lie that keeps us alive.
The building didn’t change, the simple architecture remains but somehow the exited warm feeling is no longer the same.
The people stay here, not quite happy but they know they’d never want to leave. I know how they feel, I’ve been where they’ve been- I’ve felt all their feelings and now all I’m left with is grief. Not quite grieving the place, all the walls stay the same, but grieving the person I used to be. The feelings I used to feel, I still feel those now but somehow with more experience, I become more down. I grieve the friends that I made, the way that I was carefree, not quite happy but not sad.
I was stable where I was, with the people who I was around. The bricks felt safe then, now they just feel worn down- I think the walls know I’ve overstayed my welcome but I don’t quite know if I’m ready to get out. They provided me with shelter when the hail came down and helped me see who I was from the inside out. I know staying just isn’t my path, but leaving here feels like the easy way out. Still all the bricks lay in the same place they did yesterday and the new people are coming in to take my place. I can’t do anything now but leave this place I once knew as my town. I’ll miss you, even if you wasn’t always the best.
Your identity is made up of the people that join, yet somehow you helped shape mine. You are cold and incapable of love, but I believe that’s a myth that you helped bust. If this is goodbye, which I know it is. Can you promise me that no matter what you’ll carry on giving? Your giving is more powerful than any other gift.
S inking into my bed, my mind feels empty and cold, it writes stories about us that still remain untold. D reams of you are all I have left, it’s the only place our love remains free, it runs around my mind, unbothered about expectations or acceptance. R oping itself around my veins, almost suffocating me until I wake and when I do, I’m stuck, stuck in the reality of time. A fter I wake I have no choice but to start my day, though I still feel the after effects, my body still aches. W e have no choice but to change, but I wish we could go back and revisit old times. K nowing you was not enough, it was too short-lived, I need your gentle love to heal me once again. C an’t you come back to me? Why did the curse of time take you away? You was not ready. A fraid of what my mind might do without you, I talk to the clock on my wall that made our time short, I beg for it turn, for it to go back. “B ackwards”I whisper to it each night however, it is to stubborn and careless to listen to my words. So for now, I will look forward to sleeping each night and feeling your love tightly embracing my mind.
