Nighttime Afflictions

Cold sweat pricks the hot skin on my neck as I wake up to the nightmare of you not existing anymore, of you ending it all with a rope, of you ending it with the scarlett of your blood flowing through the water of your overflowing bucket, and a bruise impossible to stitch up.
No more of you seeing only the darkness of life; no more of you crying for hopeless endeavours; no more midnight birthday wishes, and no more Valentine’s day texts. A void in the place of an ex-best friend: a you-shaped hole in the universe.
When memories fade, it’ll be your face flashing in my uneven mind- as a stranger I was unable to save, as a blank space none of my children will be able to fill. My memories of you, like an albatross hanging around my wrinkled neck, no amnesia could erase.
Tides of guilt wash over my sleep-deprived mind, reminding me of the indifference of the human kind. Long histories of you and me, rewritten from nothingness to infatuation to love and back, for it would have been too easy to hate you, but I didn’t want to. Instead, I chose the hard way out: of a tale with a ending. In the drama of life, you were and remain a comedy.
A flutter of the metaphorical butterflies greet me as I think of you, and I tell myself that it’s only just a dream. A dream of the sick, morose kind, unlike the ones we dreamt of together.
As I drift back to sleep slowly and forcefully, I dream of shoestrings, and metal scraps, and green apples, none of which render me the emotional intensity to hold my sleep, as I twist and turn all night, thinking of happier nights and moonlit skies.

“I told her I already have a girlfriend.”
Who?”
“You.”

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About TheBlackWallflower

I'm just your average unique person. I love to read and write (no surprises there, eh?) and think a lot. I adore Rowling and think Harry Potter should be a religion. I also hate pink. I love fluff generally because it makes me feel intelligent and I love poetry because it makes me feel different. (yes, references.) I'm married to Sirius Black. So I sign myself as The Bitch alarmingly often. Oh, and I love Mr. Darcy. And Jo Longo. And Chandler Bing. And Sherlock. (Yes, I'm a fantard.) And in case you want to drop in a good, or a critical word, feel free to email me: theblackwallflower@gmail.com OR, follow me on Twitter: @WallflowerBlack Enough with the babble. OkBye. View all posts by TheBlackWallflower

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