7 things I wish I had written down before you found me;
1) My body no longer feels like its in the present. Always two seconds in the past, lagging, waiting to be left behind between dawn and dusk of a repeated day. Hiding in your sighs as you sleep, my body sits in the dark, indiscernible from the growing shadows. I wait, hoping to be noticed.
2) Your towel is a lighter colour. I hadn’t noticed, but its paler now, bleached with regular use. I wonder how long its been on the floor, or why I’m too much of a coward to pick it up. I leave it there, surrounded by your footprints and hair, and wonder how long your shadow has been haunting my apartment.
3) My alarm clocks has been dead for 3 weeks. I don’t have the energy to fix it, knowing you would have if you were here. I barely have the energy to wake up, knowing that my left side grows colder, and my days grow longer. My dead alarm doesn’t bother me now, and I bask in the silence.
4) Regret taints my future, and I no longer feel the need to imagine the stale dream of potential.
5) My mouth had molded against yours. Grown with your chapped lips and biting teeth. They sit awkwardly now, and I don’t know what to do with them. Speaking doesn’t quite fit anymore, and words feel like invaders in my own mouth.
6) How do I stop the shaking in my pen? The ink jumps from the page, arguing against the words I wish to write. My fingers know something I don’t, I'm sure of it – they twitch on certain letters and break through the paper at others. I wish they would tell me, for I feel so blind.
7) I wish you hadn’t ran. I feel the leash choking me, pulling me somewhere I don’t want to be. I’ll catch up soon, I know I will, and maybe i'll hear your laugh again.