You dont want to watch, you know its wrong, but you cant take your eyes off it. Its not your business.... but you want to take pleasure in looking.
Sunday, 13 September 2015
The Operating Theatre.
After all the heartbreak and falsified hope, unrequited love turned into passionate hate. After the slow and painful acceptance that the love will never return, that he's not coming back and once again you have been left on your own to face your replacement. Forgive it, the heart is exhausted.
Still lingering in the infinite void between leaving love behind and discovering someone else, it is at this three month time frame that it struggles with the option of either being completely alone, detached from the magnetic attraction of what makes love so addictive. Or... does a heart need to discover a connection so pure that all others that may have graced it will be forgotten.
I never did enjoy the healing process, my heart and head are caught up in a hospital bed, bound with slings and tubes and doctors notes. It does feel liberating to not be so broken anymore. I can feel the bones mending and molding, the sharp pain disintegrating into a numb nothingness. I can get out of this hospital bed unassisted, a few weeks earlier being so unsure of my future to even stand again. My feet have never failed me, i almost feel a raging guilt for ever doubting them or myself. I am now faced with the decision: to excuse ones self from love or be loved unconditionally?
Wednesday, 8 July 2015
I'm sure it's not so bad after a while, sleeping on your own. Once the pillows lose your scent and the warm dent in the mattress misplaces your shillouette. I cannot even force the will to sleep in my own bed, it just reminds me of you. I close my eyes, can almost feel skin on skin. Your gentle embrace.
Desperate for the pillows to whisper sweet nothings upon my temples, "sluggy i love you." Replacing the butterly kisses for zebra stripes, face mapped out by heartbreak.
I starved myself for 4 days, i just wanted to look lovely for you. I spent hours attempting a masterpiece to set your eyes upon. Primed, framed, signed. I cried for what seemed years as my effort was neglected. Watercolour taxi seats and streetlights.
I wanted to inhale your hands, your arms, your torso, your breath. But now its just myself and the thought of you, and how it won't be so bad sleeping on your own.