Silence. Like a permanent crease, darkening with time, slicing through my veins. There is no telling what you do, what you say, because I can never get pass your wordlessness. Everyone has secrets, but when did they become mine?
I am sorry to go through life, suspicious and cynical. But the world has dealt its blows on me, and before I crumble beneath its hand again, I close up my soul. I have let many wrong people in, and they have made a wreck of a beautiful home that was once mine. I look at the smouldering embers, their dying light taking my dreams with them. The stench is foul, like incense burnt too long, too strong.
Red shreds of curtains ripped, flaming black now on the floor. My marble cracked, and vases smashed. The flowers you once gave me…withered beyond recognition, falling to dust at the touch. No sign of life, the photographs remaining turned to black and white. Nothing was this clear before.
The sound of a beating heart, empty thoughts, unspeakable…It is raw, burns at your touch. So sterile, so cold. You fail to understand, but without you, I would not still be around. Life changes, people change, and suddenly my world has been broken into.
I sit down, because I am weak and tired. My body fails, everything fails. I am trying to figure out a way to fix this, but pieces of glass are everywhere, cutting me all over. So easy to bleed, so easy to fall. Where do I start? I place my hand on a shaking wall… Maybe I’ll use bricks this time.
The particles get into my nose, clouding my eyes. I have cried too many tears and now my well has run dry as bones in the valley. I have run out of fuel and light candles to help me through this eclipse. Then I look up to the roof that has caved in, revealing a glimpse of my heart still beating, blood trickling down its sides into the corners of me.
There is a need to buy everything I like, in order to compensate, remunerate, patch up my losses. I have tried counting but given up in despair, because the ways are too many, the returns too few…Perhaps I should start rearranging my furniture.
I pick up an ancient book, fallen beneath my bed, under my dreams. I dust it off, and turn these pages of gold. I guess I never really opened my heart to the right one before…I guess I never really knew what I was doing, what I was saying.
Everyone has secrets, and so do I.
