In the hours that you slept, I laid awake, my mind waging a war within itself. Whiskey in hand, the edges of reality get blurred. Your loss is wrapped around me like a vice, suffocating me, choking me. It’s not the goodbye that hurts, I guess. It’s the flashback that follows.
I dream of you. Us. The fevered and recycled demons that haunt me. I’m scattered, broken. Flicking through the channels, I seek my own fear in cinematic nightmares. I yell my innocence and silence echoes through these empty walls. Fear made me parade naked through the rush hour traffic, an amusing sight for those countless, unforgiving eyes.
I’ve looked at you in a million ways and I’ve loved you in all of them. When you kissed me, I felt forelsket. Maybe, I was that naive girl, wearing rose-coloured glasses and maybe your absence gave me a reality check. And even though I’m glad I walked away, a part of me will always be waiting for you.