Losing You
I wandered through desolate streets for the entire night, my isolation like a prison in my mind. The cold and sterile air was gradually infecting my nicotine-stained lungs like a terminal illness that was yet to be discovered. The night clutched onto the thinning strands of my life like a fist.
Sometimes they let me write to you but I’m not sure my letters ever reach you. In here my thoughts all come tumbling into my head in such jumbled disarray that most of the time even I don’t understand what I am thinking.
My memories are like shards of glass that if only I had the willpower I could piece together so that they could understand. That’s what they tell me anyway. I’m not sure that I believe them. I’m not even sure that the memories I have are genuine. It feels like I awoke one morning and my head was stuffed full of broken-up memories that some intruder had left there in the middle of the night.
Sometimes I sit for hours in the same corner and sometimes you’re there with me. I like to watch the rain sometimes as it falls delicately past my window. Sometimes I wish I was out there in the world, with the rain on my head.
They keep asking me questions for which I have no answers. They expect me to ask them questions too but I do not know what I should ask them. Maybe I will ask them about you.
I left him lying by the road, silhouetted by the hazy streetlight.
I hate you. I love you. I wish you were more honest with me. Your lies really fuck with my head. Everything you say seems sincere and if I didn’t know better I might trust you. But I know I’ll never get out of here.
They bring me food when I ask. It tastes like aeroplane food. I can’t tell one meal from another. Sometimes I eat it to make them happy. Sometimes I don’t.
They take turns to walk up and down, up and down. I can always tell when she is coming by the sound of her heels click-clicking on the cold stone floor. His footsteps are silent and all-seeing.
Sometimes I make myself sick so that he will give me attention. Sometimes I cry but that is not for attention. I cry a lot now. I don’t know why.
My misery was spilling its way out of my eyeballs in the form of painful tears, and I couldn’t cope with the pounding in my head.
They let me go to the toilet whenever I need but she has to stand in there with me. I hate her but she doesn’t know.
I don’t sleep but I haven’t since I was a child. I sit on the floor and count until the morning arrives and she is back, click-click-clicking her way down the fucking hall like a an early bird, awaiting her prey- me, the mouse. She hates me but he doesn’t. He’s always there when I need him. He reminds me of you when he smiles. I have never seen him smile.
I had met him with the intention of destroying all.
The sky turned black.
One time I almost left but they found me on the stairs. I didn’t mind really. I didn’t know where I was going. They told me to never try anything like that again. I never have.
Sometimes I hide underneath my bed and wait for them to come in and find me. They always do. I like it when he comes in but not her. She doesn’t understand me. She’s like everyone else.
He panicked at the prospect of being alone. He wouldn’t let me leave so we ended up performing a neurotic ballet of some kind to the silent streets surrounding us.
The sky turned blacker still.
I hate her and I hate him. I love him. I love you. Do you love me? I watched the world, spinning round without me. Soon they would see.
In that moment I smashed the serenity of everything I’ve never known. I severed all my connections with the seemingly perfect yet so transparent world, and I burned any bridges I had remaining back to everything you were. I had wasted everything on a life that once seemed so sweet, but without the alluring shadow of your dreams was merely saccharine. The knife blade was illuminated in the soft moonlight as your ignorant eyes watched my every move in perfectly naïve silence. I was seventeen years old. We danced long into the night.
I don’t write to you anymore, not since I was moved. I wonder if you remember me.
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