It’s late and almost nearing dawn, sitting in a darkened room with the pristine scarred moon as the only source of light, makes things easier. This way any shining surface in the room won’t get a glimpse of my reflection; the judgmental bastards.
Curled up in my teak bed under my age old death smelling duvet, I can barely sleep; the cold isn’t warm enough. The dream catcher just hangs there from the ceiling wastefully looking lifeless just like every entity in the room. It doesn’t matter anymore, what mattered is long gone and lost like the treasures of the world or like the rotting frame in the sea bed; irretrievable like time. Haunting memories, inaudible laughter and pricking touches are all a part of my bed time story, which plays itself repetitively.
Unable to shun the taunting past, I distract myself temporarily, making my way towards the worn out writing desk, the stiffened papers still lay where I had left them ages ago. The weight of a simple pebble holds down the emptiness in those sheets. The incomplete sentences divide my poem from reality. I wish I could erase the words or even this moment.
My mind rewinds back to those days, when your playful brush spell bounded my soul, your surreal breath overcame my disarray and your presence reminded me to find my own. It’s been years since we last spoke, I wonder if your eyes still blink. Just between you and me; I wish I could see them light up just once.
The purple skies outside are slowly illuminating to reveal what’s left of me and our memories. The bed on your side is still unmade; the scent of your character lingers on the pillow and between my fingers. I yearn for you in my solitary confinement; it makes me crave, like an addict for opium or a deceased for life.
What became of our last kiss, amidst all of this; what did I miss.
I’m under that night, under those same stars; nothing has changed except your muddied footprints walking away. I never forgave you for this but I only wanted to. I want to burn in this ville, you along with those lines.
The contemplation that I would never hold you again, is a bitter truth that I have to digest. Yet the comfort of preserving you in my memory is enough for me to live a lifetime.
The sun in the distant horizon is gradually making way to replace me; It’s glorious light ignites my skin; cautiously I trace my step backwards looking for shelter to discreet myself from the brutality of nature.
Battling the raging light, I foolishly misplace your stack of travel books and subsequently bump into the dresser. I turn to rearrange your books in the order you like it. But my dilated pupils lock on the dusty mirror on the dresser. I pause to stare at myself but the result of what I desperately tried avoid seeing now faces me like judgment day. I now stand to face my own shortcomings, the reality of which slaps my pale face like thousands of icicles, is too much of a heartache.
I take one more look before I decide to never return. My searching eyes wait in vain for an illusion but the deceiving mirror shows me nothing. I then realize it wasn’t you that left; it was me that transcended into another world leaving you behind unaccompanied and lifeless.