Feel pointless again.
I clicked delete.
Just a little more things to delete.
I have to delete.
I will delete.

***

Never would I imagine that I would one day have problems sleeping.
That is now
If only there’s some alcohol somewhere now.

What type of Fae are you?

You came back.

I have the answer.

This feels good.

I crave you no more.

So… good bye

I have no reason to miss you anymore

It was nothing.

Nothing profound.

Nothing serious.

Nothing at all.

Just a dream perhaps.

Only this little elixir and little bits to remember.

It will fade because it’s time to leave.

Goodbye.

Maybe you’ll appear and I’ll move away the next time.

Maybe.

Toxic. I know it is.

Images.

I can’t rub away.

That sense of almost. That glimmer of hope. That pull and push.

What is it?

Why, the soft kiss on the eye.

Why, the warmth.

Why, to be close.

And as I fall asleep, the trees outside seem closer, the birds seem to be singing, and your heartbeat, the rhythm I can never catch. Why?

Why go away, why?

Where emptiness and feelings ebb and flow.

Sometimes like the crazy waves of the ocean.

Sometimes meek, like a calm summer day.

Where the realization hits.

Where hatred is accumulating, muffled somewhere.

Where illusion is greater than anything.

Where I wish you would stop doing this.

Why is this your one way street?

Why do I ask for more?

Why aren’t you proud enough of me?

 

The scent of you.

Lingers.

 

How crazy it is that you’ll look for me suddenly.

How sad it is at the thought you might vanish again.

Why am I hanging on?

Moved

And less than a day, I miss the village terribly.

Miss those studying times in the cc.

The spectacular.

Chilling at T25.

The parties.

The sighing monster.

The sorry creature.

Crazy French neighbour singing at 3am.

The pool table.

The joy of having most of your friends a few doors away.

The bridge.

The walk to uni.

The screaming kids at the childcare centre.

The crazy birds that knock into your window.

The random cat that passes the window every night.

All the times.

And you.

Laying there in your arms, staring at the ceiling fan with not a word.

If only everything could be uncomplicated.

.

.

.

Now, how can I bear to graduate?

How?!

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