For two full days, I noticed the minutes tick, for the first time, while I empathised with my prior fiction in more ways than I could write.
For three nights I walked in the rain and prayed for my thoughts of warmth to lead you home. I wished for my key to unlock you like you unlocked me. I tasted you in the midnight droplets that dropped, and on the early morning air of where we slept; I allowed myself to believe a dream.
On the fourth night, I knew you would not be at home. The metal, once your medal, mangled inside of the lock and unlocked at the same time as I did; as I wept.
Now my legs will not move, and this room is too cold to dry the tiles from my eyelids. I know why winter is bitter and it is not the temperature.
I want to make my bed, but I can not change a thing. I want to move my black boots, but I can not touch a thing. I want to drink spring water with tequila and lime like turpentine, but I can not clean a thing. I want to rearrange the pillows, but you changed them to the point that I can not see them without your body. I want to open up the blinds, but I can not face the light again without your shade. I want you to say the sweet thing you said in the morning, before breakfast, again. I want it all again. I wanted it then, and a week later, again.
I might sleep forever so I can pass this time and undo the bind I feel holding me back from my ability to act. I am not better rested; I am restless. I had never rested better than when I had never rested.
Is it not sad how your least favoured was my favourite? Would you be surprised to know that my show was a purposeful glimpse of me without reinforced walls? The bench, the sunset, and the dog which brought life full-circle; I could not have described something more perfect, and it does not get any more honest than that.
Now that I think about it, that dog is probably dead. I have tried to remember the name she gave him. He could not stand; how like him, on these cold tiles, I am.
If you prayed for somebody like me, then received me completely, why would you not keep me? I thought I was the one to throw rocks at the sky.
As I flit into blackness I can not flick backwards; the pages are erased and burnt away. Maybe this train is speeding, but before it derails completely I pray you make it to the station; flip a page on whatever happened, and know that I could never be more hurt than scarred with the thought: we never tried.
I wanted to leave my door unlocked last night, so that you might find your way home, even if I would have had to find another way to unseal your heart; given a chance, maybe I could.
Now I am not sleeping with the door open, no, I am thinking with it closed. I am dreaming while in pain, yet my mind is clear; I am wide awake.
All I can say is what I stated on the last day: this is not what I want.
I pray that you are mistaken because I have never been convinced of such as much as I think you are. I hope you do not wake up five years from now with regrets like you said; instead, I only wish you to be wrong and have the insight to know now. Whatever is off can be on; you eat enough apples for that thought to drop and grow. Or, like the ending of the softest poem, I will stop and go, which is paradoxical to think about as I reach out while my heart beats loud from the deepest sounds of my soul. A week? No. That is a concept I did not need. I know, I know, but I did not know.