Inside my little world I try to focus
long enough to look into your eyes
and keep the dearest particles of light,
captured in May,
released in June,
restored in July,
severed in August,
inside.

I cannot remember
the last time I felt
this melancholy.

/

Careless laughter
and needless fantasies
we indulged in,
of spending even more
time than we did,
more than we should,
more than we had,
more more more…
It was never enough.

We’d drown ourselves
in the romanticised idea
of youth
and a lifestyle
better suited for
invisible wanderers
than for kids from the suburbs.

We’d stay out too late
mimicking the artists
who failed to get their pain across,
imagining we understood them.
We’d be up all night
guessing each other’s thoughts
and retelling our life
down from childhood up until then.

Contemplations of jealousy
and assumptions
rooted in instability.
Long walks
through cracked pavement
and jokes to hide
our invalidated pain.

Songs sung out.
Songs screamed out.
Songs of hope.
Songs of loss.
We’d hide ourselves
in music and the arms
of whoever was
conveniently located.

/

And I wouldn’t take any of it back.