Sunday, April 5, 2015

This is not a love story.

As I walk to the door the smiles overwhelm me. Who could possibly find such a happy occasion?
The sound of a breaking heart rings in my ears. I look around. No one else can hear it. Like a river of freezing rain it soaks through my shirt. It seeps to my bones, solidifying the small drops left from an unmistakeable regret.

This is not a love song.

I lay down to sleep and find myself awake in a world that I couldn't possibly remember. The trees painted blue and the sky shining a nostalgic cream. It feels like home but looks like a story. The piano plays it self while I try to hum along. I lost the beat. I lost the answer. The sand feels warm between my toes while the water runs through my hair.

This is not a love poem.

I let go. As I longed to hold on tighter and tighter, I loosened my grip. I watched the fall. I felt the fall. In my organs, in my mind. I looked on as if it never happened. I tried to forget. But it did happen. It's still here. I'm still here. My heart is still here. As I stare into the cream colored sky, it beats again. For the first time in a long time. A sound comes out. Somewhere between pain and pleasure it cries for release. But it's too late. It's stopped again.

This is not a love story.

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