honey
*
these memories of the times we spent together, from the coffee shop where we gulped cans of soft drinks while chatting the day away just right across our block, to the bookstore where we spent hours poring over young adult books, keep me warm during this cold, rainy November night.
// begin.
the curtains are flapping wildly, wind pelting the cloth relentlessly, rain streaming in ferociously, like a rain of arrows against the marble tiles of my whitewashed room. a pool of liquid, with bits and pieces of leaves and twigs scattered within like a sorry collection of items you'd see for sale at a flea market, steadily gathers near my bed. its wooden construction is already sodden with rainwater, but i can't be bothered to get off my bed and close the windows. what the hell's the point anyway? i do wish the rain could wash away the pain, but water isn't strong enough to cleanse myself of my thoughts of you.
i hug my pillow just a little tighter as i feel my nose turn sour, crunching up again like a stupid shriveled prune. i hate it when this happens. i dig my nails deeper into my skin, already pinkish red from my previous attempts at forgetting. and i feel my eyes steadily filling up with water. ironic. i don't need more liquid around me right now, being surrounded by this storm, trapped in this white bubble of longing and loneliness. claustrophobic time warp. frozen minutes, frigid air. chilly thoughts and air-conditioned skulls.
slipping again. i try to pull my quilt closer around me, a futile attempt to shield myself from the invading spectres within my mind. i can easily ignore the external environment, honestly. i'm completely used to the noise, the cold, the pain. i can zone it out, make it numb. but inside here i'm a complete wreck. i'm screaming internally, the rippling soundwaves echoing off the walls of my skull, ricocheting everywhere like sound bullets ripping my entire being apart.
please help me. come back.