Twenty One

All I've thought about for 2 days is that familiar smell ; decaying record sleeves, old clothes and oil paints.

This smell makes me think of certain people, a boy and a girl.

I hate them both.

No one likes to remember things that dig at the marrow of your bones, and pop, like junk mail, into your head.

We bury these memories for a reason, why do you always insist on revisiting?

Do people not know that when they say His name you wince? Your body physically pulses out of beat, heart racing, face flushing. Please, just leave His name where it is. Dead in some forgotten book with nothing but fading colors to keep it company.

When people tell you that they saw He or She on the train or bus or centre or movies. Why would I care? Why rake it up? Force feed me the memory, pull the trigger of unnecessary thought and sadness.

He ended everything, and She pushed it further. I watched it all slip gently from my hands and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Apologize, get down on your knees and say you are sorry for everything you did.

Or don't, it means nothing to me now.

Nothing.

But sometimes, if I wake during sleep, the dark engulfs me. And for a moment, nothing has changed, not my body or hair. For this tiny moment in this dreamy state. I think of Him fondly, think of his lips and eyes. Think of my love. Think of Her jokes and laugh.

And then it's gone, and I realize I'm alone. I look different to then, and check the mirror just to be sure, My phone has none of their digits, or photo's and my lips don't dare speak their names.

I have no good feelings for them, Nothing.

Why would I ever want to.

I miss something though.

There's a gaping whole. It's getting bigger and bigger, and sometimes,

I just can't think what I'll do.