Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.

Ember.

You were the sun beams which cradled my face on those summer days; my oasis in the most barren lands. You were the voice which kept singing whilst all else was silent; the smiling eyes in the sea of unhappy faces. You were the bonfire which burnt in the deepest caves of my heart.

But that’s the thing about life, love, and everything in between. Sometimes the sun goes down, deserts dry up, and voices stop calling. Eyes glaze up. Fires become embers. Sometimes things change, people change, for reasons beyond missing that call on a Wednesday afternoon. Sometimes people outgrow the excuses you make for them. Sometimes the things you wrote about them become stories of two people who don’t exist anymore. Sometimes people have to become memories, no matter how wonderful they may be.

But as much as I tell myself this, I can’t shake this numbness which has crawled inside me. I want to crumble; I want to turn tables and cry until my heart stops bleeding. I want to break so I can finally be put back together. But it just won’t work. I walk around London with a lead chest and glazed eyes, hoping to feel something more than slight confusion and the feeling like I have forgotten something. I want to see your face and curse your name and give you hell for walking away without a decent reason, but I continue to make allowances for you. People say it’s because I’m too nice, or that I forgive too freely, but I feel like it’s because I understand: I understand what it feels like to be confused and lonely and self destructive. I remember what it feels like when life sneers and jeers as you try and get back on your feet.

But I just wish that you stayed. I wish you would have let me pick you up and brush the dirt of your knees and kiss where it hurt, because that’s exactly what you did for me. You stayed through the nights where I was no longer myself, and you cleaned my tear-stained face and held my hand when it was loose. You made me smile when I thought the muscles had emaciated, and you made me love when I thought that I was a lost cause. You laughed at my hopeless cliches and hyperbolic thoughts.

I know that people are different, but I can’t shake the question of why you kept this wall and stopped me from coming through.

I’m sitting here watching the last embers cling for their final breath, because I can’t bear to stamp them out.

(photo credit to Mitch Martinez via mitchmartinez.com)

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