I place myself in the center of room
as you panic to pack up your stuff,
being careful that nothing is left behind.
There are flowers growing in the corners of the room
that ask you to stay.
There are green skies
that we painted.
There are flaws your and mine
that decorate this wall.
There are TV channels
that we can surf through,
there are days to be wasted.
And I want to waste them with you.

I want you to stay.
I almost blurt it out.
But had it not been for these flowers and skies
and days written in color of your name,
I could have left
to find the dreams I never had.
There is a chandelier
of blood red glass
of your sighs and goodbyes.
I know you are not running away from me
but from our devils,
from our destruction,
that lay between us
every night.

Gifts. Not all gifts consist of contagious laughs, nor shrieking woes. For most children, they receive joy, and sometimes a coffin for the old. Mine was hard to distinguish even up today. Because it was dressed like a daydream under the sheets of gray. A snowglobe, a sculpture of two faces, the atmosphere that surrounds it like a womb. It felt secure. A city of our dreams where no one can touch. The love that never came to me was there to watch. I remember feeling almost everything to the sound of your breath and fascinating wonders. With you the glitters there form a twister. The figures within will dance until their feet numb. Christmas hums whisper through the effect of the words 'i love you'. And those were the reasons I forgot it was all a lie. I forced myself a sweet lie. Because somehow, I lost the sense of reality. Your hands will never intertwine mine. Your eyes will never see that little world. Eventhough I admit I was fine, I blinded myself in this light. The thought of you managed to make chilly snows as glitter. The colors turned dull as I make out our figure. As if a midnight train, you abandoned our memories at dawn. And your heart making decisions like stone. It was gloomy and cold and funny. The perfect piece of broken melody. So I sing with this gift that you bestow, locking my soul in eternal sorrow.

And after promising him that not even death could do them part; she left him.

Your love--or your lack of it--is sending me into a spiral.
One minute you are here, alive and ardent,
The next, you are my ghost.
You are the wave that is drowning me,
The box that is suffocating me,
The sun that is blinding me.
We have danced around this for so long:
The empty souls are coming--
But we are still standing here.
Perfect.
Imperfect.
Racing inevitably towards the end.

Please don’t let me go.