By Najaf
I seem to enjoy the act of time passing more in the night-time – I suppose the peace of the silence soothes me. These streams of consciousness that rob me from well needed sleep are, overall, pointless for me to worry about – I’m only as good as the worst thing I have done. Such is life, I would not mind disappearing – I wouldn’t go out of my way, but I watch the hours as they go by and that is surely better than trying to fill them.
It’s like meeting an old friend, staring at the moon like this, there’s a rim of dark blue that surrounds it, shifting as I move my head slightly. It reminds me of her eyes, the slight dark outline of them, how is she these days? I’m still the same – can’t sleep. I suppose the courage of a confession doesn’t come to me so easily. Her actions hurt people; they always do. And more than she’d even know, maybe she hates herself too much to consider or loves someone else too much to consider me – either way that’s all loving someone is, violently painful.
I bowed before her, offered my heart, would’ve ripped the flesh off my own back if only she asked. They say he was indeed the god of death, but it was Persephone’s wrath that spurred hum into destruction – the forceful growth of spring. A prelude to disaster, the changing of the seasons. Could this last fading night of ours be any more perfect? How sweet is it to be a bit further from you, it seems we were destined to part. But if it really is the easy way out, why am I finding giving up such a hard thing to do? Why can I not speak? My heart burns to tell her, so I write these as words I cannot speak. I cannot tell if you deserve the universe – if you deserve all the thing I cannot give you or nothing at all.
As though autumn takes over my soul, love me only till we go back to our normal lives. You’ve moved on from me, you’ve forgotten me – your words make me cry. And you only liked your eyes when you saw them in the reflection of mine. You said they looked like your mother’s eyes, I look over them and I ache.
Even now, how pathetic this is – sometimes I find myself thinking of you.
