I have been locked away in my room for so long I’m afraid my bookshelf has started conversing with me.
Every time I step foot in my backyard, the grass always seems greener, and the sky, why, she gets prettier everyday.
My eyes burn from staring at the sun, I need to look up, never down, and I must make do until the moon arises again.
If I had known the last time I kissed him, held him would be the last for weeks, even months, I would’ve never let go. Everyday that passes, to an end I know not of, feels like forevermore.
They say patience is a virtue, but I’m broken. I’m alone with my shadow and thoughts that seem to bring me down. I grow timid, lifeless and departed from reality. I feel as though I’m floating, I do not actually exist, not in the minds of others not physically not ever.
I sometimes wonder what the point of waking up is, I could just lay in bed, deteriorating slowly, and when this is all over, I will build myself back up again.
At least I hope I will.
I’m always nervously staring at the clock, the calendar, I say time is an illusion but I can feel myself grow older and weaker as the clock numbers go upwards.
I sleep, constantly, an escape for just a few hours.
And if I’m lucky, I can find myself dreaming of him.
This will do. This will do until I can see him again, and feel his bare chest against mine.
If patience is a virtue, I no longer wish to be virtuous,
I just wish to be with him, outside, inside wherever it may be.