Aug 2015
He's everywhere. You can't escape the grasp he has around your entire being.
He's in the last boquet of flowers he gave you which have been sitting on your desk for months. They're about ten shades darker from the first time you set eyes on them. There are fewer petals and they're much more fragile than your mothers fine china.
He's in the last drop of ink of your favorite pen which hasn't been used since the time you wrote about how much he meant to you.
He's in that T-shirt that he left crumpled on the floor in the corner of your bedroom that's stained with your mascara from that time you cried so hard you couldn't breathe. He stayed to try to comfort you, but the night ended with your bare skin whispering, "please don't leave" as his said, "I can't stay for long."
He's in the echo that rings through your ears every time the door slams shut. But it's not the sound of the door that unthreads your heart little by little, it's his voice repeating "goodbye, I'll see you soon." over and over again.
His presence is everywhere, although he isn't physically there. It's not like he ever really was. You sit there and wonder how someone you thought was so beautiful, could have left you with someone so ugly. Heartache and hope. You hope that maybe he'll come back, but you know that he isn't. He was never planning on coming back. All that you have left is the ghost of him, or who you thought he was.
B.S.
He's in the last boquet of flowers he gave you which have been sitting on your desk for months. They're about ten shades darker from the first time you set eyes on them. There are fewer petals and they're much more fragile than your mothers fine china.
He's in the last drop of ink of your favorite pen which hasn't been used since the time you wrote about how much he meant to you.
He's in that T-shirt that he left crumpled on the floor in the corner of your bedroom that's stained with your mascara from that time you cried so hard you couldn't breathe. He stayed to try to comfort you, but the night ended with your bare skin whispering, "please don't leave" as his said, "I can't stay for long."
He's in the echo that rings through your ears every time the door slams shut. But it's not the sound of the door that unthreads your heart little by little, it's his voice repeating "goodbye, I'll see you soon." over and over again.
His presence is everywhere, although he isn't physically there. It's not like he ever really was. You sit there and wonder how someone you thought was so beautiful, could have left you with someone so ugly. Heartache and hope. You hope that maybe he'll come back, but you know that he isn't. He was never planning on coming back. All that you have left is the ghost of him, or who you thought he was.
B.S.
