I, who had made myself believe that one should strive for love...that we should bend all reasons to be with the beloved, now sit here exiled from the only place I could ever call home. Having cut off the umbilical cord that joined my soul to my body, unable to see my mother who lies dead by my side. I feel submerged like an iceberg in an ocean of self-pity, only a part of me above the water to let me know how miserably alone i am in this vast expanse.
i call to myself the vestiges of memories and try to replace them one by one with objects. The lamp by my bedside is the time when we had our first coffee in the city cafe. the coffee now tastes like the lamp and the lamp is nowhere to be seen. My paint-brushes are the times when we sat by the lake feeding fish. I don't paint with them anymore because they are the fish who, now, starve because no one feeds them. I don't know what i mean when I say this. I am displacing my memories, so now they live with me in my room, hidden in my closet, in the sketchbooks, in the guitar, in my books, in the floor and the ceiling fan- in everything around me because, i can no longer hold their weight in my head. They surround me and that's fine until start speaking to me. I...know...that...I..failed.
My room is a memorial and i sit like a fossil of love long-lost in the midst of ruins. inactivity has settled like dust that i breathe into my lungs, it's trying to kill me.. i didn't strive hard enough. i didn't take risks. i was too weak to fight and i will probably die with this regret clenched between my teeth, leaving me unable to speak....i didnt try.
i call to myself the vestiges of memories and try to replace them one by one with objects. The lamp by my bedside is the time when we had our first coffee in the city cafe. the coffee now tastes like the lamp and the lamp is nowhere to be seen. My paint-brushes are the times when we sat by the lake feeding fish. I don't paint with them anymore because they are the fish who, now, starve because no one feeds them. I don't know what i mean when I say this. I am displacing my memories, so now they live with me in my room, hidden in my closet, in the sketchbooks, in the guitar, in my books, in the floor and the ceiling fan- in everything around me because, i can no longer hold their weight in my head. They surround me and that's fine until start speaking to me. I...know...that...I..failed.
My room is a memorial and i sit like a fossil of love long-lost in the midst of ruins. inactivity has settled like dust that i breathe into my lungs, it's trying to kill me.. i didn't strive hard enough. i didn't take risks. i was too weak to fight and i will probably die with this regret clenched between my teeth, leaving me unable to speak....i didnt try.
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