Hard Time Finding The Words.

listening to: let it die - foo fighters.
reading: john - cynthia lennon.
watching: sherlock holmes.
eating: air.
drinking: cloudy apple juice.

so i see you sitting there, with your soft, dark hair blowing in the 8:40 wind, and your pad thai getting shovelled carefully into your smiling lips, and i want to be brave and run over to you, laughing and smiling, asking what you're eating, even though i know, and sharing it with you, panda beanie on my head, red woolly socks keeping my toes warm, and we would've kissed and written chalk messages to each other on the asphalt.

sadly, i was too afraid to even let out a squeak, so i passed you by in my dark crystal shirt, the wind howling around my ears, and my new piercings stinging a little with the force of the evening air, and tears of regret formed a little in my eyes. i remember him and i laying there in the soft grass, my breath wobbling a little, knowing he was going to leave, knowing there was absolutely nothing i could do about it. sometimes i still remember moments like that, of absolute pain, knowing that nobody else respects me enough to explain why, so i just have to tell myself falsities to feel better, but i know deep down it's no use.

the only thing he's told me in months, that he trusted me with, and he told me the stories of flowers and fungi, the affects. chopping down trees when really he'd just chopped the genitals from a flower, looking down at his arms, seeing the blood pulsing through his veins, his muscles expanding and contracting, the way his body meshed with everything in his expanse, everything he touched, no showers, or he'd melt away down the drainhole. walking, every step he took like falling down into a canyon, his tongue falling out of his mouth and dragging beneath his feet.

i sat silently as my mother fed me asparagus and apple sauce, all we've had for months now. she apologises as she cries into my arms, and hopes for the day when she'll finally be alive enough to die. soulful enough for the day her body finally goes. i stare at the tiny yellow boots on my study desk, and think about the days when my feet would've fit into them, and i would've walked the roads i've walked, dealing with drudgeries and melting in the melancholy moments.

the peaceful guitar plucking rings through this tiny room, and i imagine when dad pushed me on the tire swing, and i remember my patent shoes swishing through the long brown grass. and i realised in that moment that i was in too deep, and out of time. they say it takes a lifetime to be happy, and i say that the day i find happiness, i'll probably pass on.