Sunday, 15 April 2012
the morning after
ph: weepy hollow
Can�t breathe. What�s wrong? I open my eyes. My chest is tight. There�s a lump in my throat. My breath is caught. My eyelids are heavy. What�s wrong?
Sucking hole in my chest. It�s tiny. But it hurts.
I wish I could speak French. I would board a plane to Paris, and see the world. As a free man, I can now do what free men do. Maybe I could then write in French. Maybe they�ll have the words to describe how this feels.
I am scared. My breath is caught again with fear and anticipation, excitement and trepidation. Thoughts of new loves or maybe even old loves renewed.
No. I will not think of her today. I will not.
But she is fading away. Should I not savour the last embers of her that remain- before she, and all her beauty and beautiful flaws, and her giggles and cuteness, before they are lost forever to the passing of time? Because of her, things will never be the same again.
And I am now so acutely aware that I am only me, singular, and I need to get to know me again. I haven�t really been me for 2 years now.
Time to get up, me, whoever you are.