Tiny furniture pieced together by carefully chosen parts. With our backs on the carpet, we lay head to head listening to records. The sound of Stevie Nicks echoed through the corridor. You turned over and placed your face next to mine, I felt the heat of your breath sending a spark across my skin. This house was our own, and this was the life we had wanted. You pulled me on top of you and we melted into one, this was it.
When he left, the records remained unplayed, and the home was barren and cold. I wandered the empty house searching for warmth, for a spark or a feeling. I came to the carpet where we used to lay, and I felt the bristles of what had been used. I lay down and was reminded of my lost love.
He was the only boy who had brought me flowers, yet I hung them to dry. He was the only boy who would sing to me, yet I craved silence. We walked hand in hand through the badlands, unable to feel what he did. His emotions were so strong, but I had surrendered mine. I shielded my heart from view and left him in the dark unable to know what I was feeling.
We pushed aside all of our common denominators and took gracious leaps to create new beginnings. We did not need answers to the unfinished sentences, nor did we need maps for the untravelled paths, we had one another. The past was forgotten and the present remained unchanged. We took each opportunity as escapism and broke normalcy as we fixated our gaze on prose and floral detailing.
I was saddened about the wasted time, the wine half finished, and the tears that were neatly shed. I was tired; tired of my reflection, tired of interaction, and ultimately tired of the bullshit. We lived our futile lives, wasting away on liquor and blow yet blissfully unaware of the world around us. I wallowed in self-loathing with the hope that one day I would be saved, yet you never came to my rescue. It was misdirection, a futile distraction from the world; I could not put a finger on the cause, nor did I have an answer.
I would hear his name resonate through my mind, bouncing off every muscle, digging itself into each cerebral space. I would hear his name for eighteen days, and then it would stop. The voices would end, and he would disappear.