I Was The Walrus.

listening to: mother - john lennon.
reading: nothing.
watching: nothing.
eating: air.
drinking: pear nectar.

i am snuggling into the sound of silence. filling my air with the breath from your lungs, the stale left-behinds of your soul in this tiny, compact room, and i wish your quirky laugh was here to fill this space.
despite the emptiness and cold air of my house after you left, i'm almost getting used to the dysfunctional way in which it's working, my room full of musical tunes, some chink, so i go into other rooms to make them work.

you said you're impressed with the way i handle things, the way that i throw maturity around as if it's an inflatable balloon, but i just desperately want to get it out of my hands so the static doesn't mess up my hair.
but your noogies do that anyway, you silly man in the dark purple suit.
if i were to reveal anything, it would be that i am not mature, i am not brave, and all i can do is sit here, with the tears falling onto my jean shorts, and the pear nectar dribbling down my chin, thinking how much tougher it could be, and how pathetic it is, that i can't handle what i have now.

but you make me happy, none the less. i feel your warmth, and i can hear your heartbeat, the only one i can listen to, it's deep, soft thud, not a tinny whomping like a guinea pig. and that's what is the best. i love you the way i love sparkly toes, the way i love glistening sweatdrops on noses, the way i love banana crisps, the way i love the smell before it rains, the way i love you with all the pieces that got thrown away by some other unimportant being.

you and her combined make up my confidence, my happiness and my soul.
you balance me out with your differences, you are the other two thirds of me, you make me who i am.
and the rest are just mortar that fill in the cracks of us three bricks.