the half finished bottle of wine, the smell of your cigarettes in my hair, the sleeping couch
now I am 19 and
it's nothing special as what happens when you turn 18
I am still terrified of the future.
I wish I could live without any fears, I wish I could be myself again.
there's a lot of notebooks
full with words I still need to write.
I know I still have so many things to write about but it won't come out (yet)
I stare at the pictures of us
I still have them on my wall
I only seem to remember the happy memories
maybe it’s the cigarette taste of your mouth
that got me addicted to your lips
that’s how easy it is
it's been 21 days without you
but not one of them I didn't think about you
I wonder how long it will take
for this to become easier?
when does the pain stop
I did not write as much
not because I don't care or because
it did not have an impact on me
just because I've been escaping and avoiding
instead of writing and feeling.
distracting myself from the painful feeling in my chest