Stepped outside, only to meet a blank stare from a dead looking sky. A grey kind of light, overcast but dry. The kind of day, we would have stayed, inside. Curled up on that little thing we called our bed.
Wasting a day away, never felt so great. Now I can’t escape the red, fogging up my vision; hate.
I want nothing more than to walk back inside and lay on our bed. But you’re done with me. With we. You moved ahead. I should respect that, but my stomach feels like lead, and I can’t even curl up in my own fucking bed. Without crying out for you.
So fuck you for that, and all the rest.
I’m just trying my best, to just move on.
But when my place of rest, turns to bitter test, of me vs. myself and the memories of us and the nights we lay awake dreaming of less…and more…and how the world could be ours if we’d just reach out and…
But that’s worthless now.
And I’m worthless now.
Too bad you’re not.
And I want nothing more than to burn that bed, but I’m too filled with dread, that when it’s gone, these fading memories will finally leave my head.
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