I believe that life happens between the points of a few good moments
and a few bad ones.
All that’s between are only shades of blue,
grey, whites, blacks and weddings and funerals and christenings.
I don’t know what life is
But surely, it must soon start.
I mean, the clock keeps ticking,
ticking,
ticking…
Tick, tock. Tick, tock…

I believe that the shades of grey are tests
Tests I must pass.
But life goes on.
Tick, tock.

Ok, I admit it. I don’t know.
When does life happen – when we find out to be alive?
-  or when we wish we were dead?
When I cry into my pillows and hope the rest of my dorm won’t hear me, but hoping someone will take care of me.
Take all the weight off your shoulders. Kiss you. Hold you close.
**** me.

No, I didn’t mean it that way. Ok, so maybe I do.
But we’re drifting away from each other – like two opposites, going our separate ways.
Tick, tock.
Stop the ticking, please. Make it stop.
“Don’t you want to get better?” Yes, I do.
“I know you’ve been here before.” Tick, tock.

So, for how long am I supposed to cry into my pillow – loneliness as my only friend; constantly lurking behind me; my shadow is loneliness – my face is lies. Pleased to meet you.
But back to him. I want to talk about him.
Tick, tock.
Shut up,
this is important.

“I’m just looking at the prettiest girl here,” you told me.
If I knew what I know now, I would have run away.
I would never have let you give me compliments; lever let you twist my hair; never let you kiss me; never let you touch me. Never let anyone touch me.
Go away.
Leave me.
The shades are all black.
My shadow creeps up on me.

I smile. And I don’t look happy. The face staring back at me is broken.
Tick, tock. Tick,
tock.
They talk. They know. They keep talking. I walk away.
“Mum, I’m not alright.”
“I know. You’ve been here before.”
Shades are grey – shades are black. The sky is dark. My face still doesn’t look happy.

My family keeps falling apart.
My home is no longer my home.
My friends, no longer so interested.
New friends. New places to hide.

Part one. I’m on a train. I’m standing on snow.
Part two. I’m in a car. I’m falling apart home.
Part three. I’m with you.
I’m alone. I guess that’s another story – but it’s not. It’s just me, and my friends loneliness, and my friend silence, and pillows, and lies on repeat.

So, for once. I understand.
It was a question of time before I broke too.
I wish I was dead, sometimes. But how can I give up when I have tasted the sweetness?
I have seen tiny sunrays; I have smelled your skin; felt your body; touched your soul – and then been crushed under myself and my enormous tumour of social sanctions.
I’m not allowed to love unconditionally.
I constantly find reasons to run.
Part one, part two, part three.
The ending comes later. The sad ending.

He doesn’t want me, I figure. And is confimed.

“It’s – it’s – “
“Please, just say it.” I swallow. “What happened between us?”
“Well, it’s – it’s – the age gap.”
Really.

I push people away.
I break their skulls and their hearts, and I find myself hiding like an unhappy fool.
- Who could ever want me?
They already taught me: the ones who love you will sooner or later hurt you, and let you rot in yourself; let you stay alone.
Destroy possibilities to climb back up – and that’s worse than hurting now.
It’s been worse.
They’ve humiliated me and destroyed me and my hopes and my intentions.
I don’t want to lose myself again.
Part one,
two,
three.

Hug me in the rain and laugh at my objections.
Show me the pictures of your family.
Let me in.
… maybe I’ll let you in too.

We ****** each other (over).
Was that really a good idea?
I can do that completely fine by myself, thank you.
Tick, tock. Really, still?
“… The prettiest”
Your lies are deceiving me. Your smile deceives me.
“Does it hurt?” “No, not so much. I’m okay.”

Please, I beg you.
Make it hurt.

I want it all.
The hurting; the people; the time; the time I don’t have; your smile and your lies.
“What is it you’re not telling me?” “Nothing, mum. It’s nothing.” She starts crying on the phone.
Silence.
But please. Let me in.
Knock, knock.
It’s raining. Please, can you let me in?

I have no home.
I’m just constantly hiding, running and trying to find someplace safe. Someone safe.

We could make it, you know.
“I don’t know what is happening now. I don’t know what we do.” “That’s fine. Me neither.” Kisses.
Where are your kisses now?

All I have is my sorrow, my shadow and my wet pillow.
And it hasn’t been raining. Screaming into my pillow.
Save me – just this once. I’m begging for help.
Can’t anybody
see
me?
Screaming out?

Grow up. Don’t write that.
Are you really that desperate?

Maybe life is only time.
Maybe time is just an illusion that one day another day will come, when time is really just night an day
– not years and weeks, but just empty days and nights.
Maybe life isn’t a linear curve where things get better as I previously had thought.

Just get out of this town.
Just grow up.
Just show them how good I can be.

I failed two classes this year.
I moved away from home;
and now they sell my home for strangers to live where I once played, cried, slept and laughed – by myself. Where my dreams were made.
And now; they seem to be crushed by waves crashing to the shore.

And my wall is finally crumbling down.

Inevitable. I scream into my pillow.
Hoping
for
a
better
day.

And I hang up the phone. Please, just take me in.

**Night to: 27th of May 2014