Sunday, April 8
You looked so strong. Confident and independent; perfect in all ways which would explain why she always wanted to have you. Yet, I watched from afar, just a quick glimpse and my cardiovascular locomotive would go on churning for days. I believed that since you were perfect, adding myself to the equation would just subtract, if even just one, from that pefect hundred. To me, that was enough, seeing you presented, rounded-up, never down, that to me was beauty, in my warped sense of lyrical romanticism.
Yet, as my glimpses of you grew exceeding lacking in numeration, I began to crave the sight of your existence. You held me transfixed, in an odd sense, like a moth to a flame. Whenever I flew too close, my heart would get singed.
I know I'll never have you, that's what makes you so goddamned fascinating, because no matter how hard I flap my wings, pound my chest or type myself to death, you'll never look my way. Simply because: you are the flame.
And me? What of me?
As ever, I am the ever fateful moth.
High.The night ends on a note of sickness and dry heaving. Acid and bile are foreign to the tongue - it brings unwelcomed explosions of sourness and surprises unsuspecting taste buds. Through the grimace, you see reassuring faces, you feel comforting hands running up and down your back and you hear the gentle lull of concerned voices. Yet, while the world was busy swimming, you were busy doing your own. Fighting against the surge of emotions, struggling upstream, against all impulses and natural instinct.
There is no reason keeping up appearances; you get sick all over the floor. You get sick all over again. There is no escape from this sinking feeling, like you're falling, deeper still and there is no out this time. But you fall through, flat on your face, slumped over the toilet and the night ends on a note of sickness and dry heaving.
But it ends well.
Apparently.
Sorry, I have run out of intelligent excuses.
I apologive, my thoughts are a jumbled haze.
Too tired to think straight, so many words meander, my sentences derelict.
Vocabulary missing, my diction, out of place.
Sooner or later the world will lose it's hold over me and I will slowly float into space.
My exhaustion overcomes gravity - when I sleep.
And so I sleep.
I got accepted into the Millennian Stage! Highlight of the week.
Otherwise, homework's been piling up to the sky & I think i'm majorly jinxed.
Remember to breathe.Don't forget.
din
