I am alone again. Fingers entwined in tattered cotton as the feeling of a sob, and in return the soft sigh of heavy air. Scattered papers as delusion and food tastes forgettable. I have felt this scene before: fleeting hobbies strewn disinterestedly across the table, the floors. Dawn fades to dusk, and I tread alone into the soft blue hours of the night.
The clock strikes 3; my vision blurs, limbs lay leaden. But forlorn hope never dissipates. The next song plays, the next page flips. Silence accompanies these vague tones. I’ve lived on borrowed time, borrowed words, borrowed love. I’ve kissed the void, and lies are dangerous things. Clutching close any comfort of warm skin, all while she lays in another room.
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