3AM Thoughts (14)

Yesterdays wash away into blues and crimsons on my heavy eyelids. I never see you coming, or hear the door slamming as you walk out of it each morning, eager to part ways with me and start new ones with a stranger. A briefcase in hand, the slight bit of toast on the side of your lip, the tinge of orange juice on your tongue – these feel like tastes of my own, fluttering butterflies on my walls. And right now, I am finding it hard to tell how much of our time was yours and how much of it was mine; which parts were yours and which were mine. Is that all we crumble to in the end? Strangers? For it doesn’t matter how much love is shared, how much tears are captured and smiles invented, how much handshakes are exchanged or how many kisses never blown on a skin but carried by the wind to the moaning trees instead – in the end, you come to see it was never enough. it will never be enough. That is when everything starts to play itself in fast moving flashes before your eyes – like broken records being played by the cruel hand of Fate – and there is nothing you can do about it except give in to those memories and let them melt you mercilessly. All the words said in moments of affection seem corrupted; every promise made seems fragile just like the crystal glass you broke accidentally last week; every caress and every embrace looks sharper than the edge of a razor blade. Where is your copper heart then? It is lying broken in the corner: neglected, forgotten, used, bent and twisted. You see how ugly it looks, the destruction it now carries; the destruction whose power to be inflicted upon your copper heart and iced mind you granted so

easily to someone else. So now you see all this, your ruin and your memories and you promise yourself to never love again. Their advice to trust love one more time fades in the background as you drown in a place far away where no one will be able to find you. Perhaps you do not want them to anyway. Life is short and their rules are too long.

And now you decide you will never be able to elongate your strength to follow them. Because everyone breaks. So have you, and now you are here alone, shoving the pieces of your broken self under the rug in the TV lounge where once you both sat eating macaroni from off the plates in your laps, candles flickering by your side as the lights went out.

Just like those lights, you go out too. But there are no candles here, not anymore.