Flecks of light caress the pink of your cheek as you lean
Mouth slightly open
Temple against my shoulder
There is a sudden, overpowering urge to reach over,
and stroke your forehead
the slight depression beneath your eyes
the small crease above your eyebrows
But I do not, lest you wake up.
Bathed in this light,
with your eyes closed and head bowed,
you look the most peaceful;
As if you had not a worry in the world.
It is the only time I see you like that and I know
The moment is mine
I revel in the soft sound of your breathing accompanied by a slow,
And let your scent wash over me
This is the only time I have you all to myself
Sitting there, I absorb every detail and take down careful notes in perfect penmanship, pausing only to wipe
a thin line of drool gathering at the corners of your mouth.
It is a beautiful day.
A light turns green ahead and a passing tree covers the sun.
You are once again covered in shadow as we
and all I have left of you is that memory.
— Norman Macaig, “Visiting Hour” (via onthequinox)
I realise I haven’t thanked you for the wonderful time I had that day. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Forget whatever came after, that was a good day. I enjoyed myself with you.
Here’s to more days like it.
I have just taken the shot and I’ve been told it takes awhile to work.
It’s times like these that I feel extremely destructive.
I cannot stop crying.
Sitting in a pool of my own blood I cannot help myself and I cannot accept help.
It’s times like these that I re-evaluate everything that I stand for and everything I believe in.
Like believing there is a chance that you’d care.
Deep down I guess I’ve always known you didn’t, but I’ve kept alive this small hope (I should probably smother it now) And it is terrible because I find myself in love with you, willing to put everything on the line to see you while knowing all along that you weren’t planning on caring; weren’t planning on staying because how could you after everything you’ve been through?
There are so many things I wish you could give me: security that you aren’t going to leave, the feeling that you care for me as much as I care for you, three simple words that you could never say to me
But it is selfish of me to expect that from you.
It’s just that right now, it feels like you have made a makeshift bed for me in your apartment, one to be dismantled as soon a more charming individual came calling.
I am not saying you are unfair, nor am I saying that I am ungrateful, lying in this makeshift bed. I’m just saying it is painful. That is all.
It is painful knowing that I will never be enough and there will always be that advertisement on the daily newspaper saying ‘room for rent’. I can unsubscribe to the newspaper, avoid looking at the posters for weeks, but it will still be there, along with the brand-new beds around me, waiting to be filled.
Lying in mine, I long for you to come home so I could hold you, even if it was only for awhile. And wrapped in that thought, the bed feels warmer. Or at least I think it does.
This morning I woke up to a wet pillow and continued hurting. There is nothing more painful than scrolling through pages of advertisements and potential tenants. Each time you say you’re no longer able to feel anything or that you’re open to seeing other people is a metal rod impaling my chest and it has reached a point where I no longer have any more undamaged surface to hurt. I have spent the day walking around with odd bits of metal protruding from my body, invisible to the people around me but very real, all the same. Bruised and bleeding, I crawled back to an empty apartment and took the shot
and here I am, waiting for it to work; waiting for the knowledge that I can survive another day, another round of mauling.
I can already feel it working-
Soon, I will be numb enough to start hurting again.