| I am seeing your shadow on all of the walls. Burned there. My retinas hurt. I am looking at the things you wrote, inert little notes. Your writing. Your own name. I am looking at my tattoo. Part of it represents you. Now I am imagining conversations that we never had, writing them like plays inside my head. I am going mad, a chattering child speaking to her hands. No one understands. I will have your shadow to tea. Serve it, creeping on my knees. No one gets this. You are here. You are the stars of dust, caught in sunlight floating, lulling. You are the soft blah of the pushing wind against the window frames, the murmur of the dustmites eating up my carpet. You are the light switches, clicking up and down at night and morning. You are my white breath, confessing to the teacups. I am going crazy, a child screaming her love at the top of her lungs. No one hears me. No one knows what we have done. |
| Lost Past Episode |
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| by Chloe Meakin |