I wake up with nostalgia hot on my bones and the memory of
your kiss hot on my lips. I get up and swim through the haze. The room trembles
with the remainder of the excitement I exuded as I left it all those days ago. Leaving
is easy; it is coming back that burns.
The boy behind me on the bus is wearing your cologne. It makes
me angry, indignant, like he is intruding on what makes you so
intoxicating. I want to turn around and
tell him that he has failed, he can never be you.
Someone has trekked through wet cement, a snake of delirious
footprints trails unknowingly across the sidewalk. I wonder if the scars you
left on me show. Maybe they are in my pulse, in my eyes. There are minutes and
miles between us but I see your name on the inside of my eyelids.
I get caught in the rain. Drops trapped in my eyelashes like
city lights in the distance. All the things I once loved, that shone in a fantasy
now fade to gray; I feel a light has gone out in me, somewhere unreachable.
I walk on, and on, and on. I will carry on with this
intricate distraction. Isn't that all life is? A distraction? Or a high
definition dream? It is played out to sidetrack
us from the fact that we are alive.
We are so alive it
hurts.
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