3AM Thoughts (1)

It’s weird how the best things and people and places in life turn into the best memories later. But it is these memories that hurt the most. I mean, it’s sorta twisted, don’t you think? How all that is beautiful can be so destructive to the human spirit at the same time. That golden haired girl you are infatuated with who comes to the grocery store near where you live and who you like to stare at from afar because you’re too shy to walk upto her and say hello; or that boy walking down the street who winks at you with his leaf green eyes and reminds you of melting ice creams and seashores and grass; or that song stuck inside your head so long it drowns out every other emotion; or that razor blade you slash across your skin each time you feel like you’re losing it, the control that comes with that physical pain being the sole thing you have power over in your life; or that movie you watched last summer with a best friend – when the summer heat made the cheese from the popcorn drip a little on your bare tan legs from your fingers after you licked them and you laughed out loud – the friend who now lives in China doing a part-time job and barely gets time to call you yet she does, late at night, and you tell her about the new neighbour next door and she tells you about her lovelife and so forth….

I sit here thinking and I am reminiscing about all those that were, all those that walked away, about the gifts she gave me, about the heartache he inflicted upon me. And it is all just inside my head. It is all just a mesh of memories chasing me forever and always. We are nothing but memories.

And then he comes into the room and closes the door ever so slightly yet the sound of it, along with the sound of his love drifting further from me each day, is more than enough – a loud echo in my bleeding mind to revert me back from my reverie as I plunge the needle in my arm, slowly losing myself as the orange liquid drains in my veins and numbs me. I shall have to increase my dose tomorrow, and more so the day after and again after that. It never stops. What, he asks me. The flashbacks and the memories, I tell him. And then we both lie still in the dark, our heartbeats but a grey drumbeat as he drifts on a cloud, being whisked away from me.

Filed under: Amateur, Life, Love