Truth
Things change; people grow, others get left behind, walls build, and castles get torn down. Amongst the remnants of the castle, in the shadow beneath the wall, or staring after the memory of a friend, you sit. You try to not wonder how things came to be, try to ignore the memories banging relentlessly against your skull but each time you look at the empty space beside you your eyes slant and the memory of comfort and friendly smiles drowns you. The walls are tall and you can’t break through them, can’t even plaster on that painfully fake smile and laugh. There’s no point anyway, there’s no one left to notice.
There are days when you’re content in your sanctuary, others when you go mad in your cage, yet it changes nothing. You still remain in your solitary confinement longing for the life that left you long ago. The hint of laughter clings onto the breeze, enticing you with its innocence but the storm clouds still linger ominously above you. You think in a way it’s better now, because they can’t hurt you too deeply but the gash is already in your heart; just another beating your broken heart has weathered. You’re glad you don’t have to wait any more, you don’t have to look at them each day and wonder if it’s the last time they’ll pretend to not notice, don’t have to live anxiously knowing that they’ll leave you soon. After all, you’ve been half-waiting for them to leave since the first time you met - you’ve come to expect it now.
You stare up at the rough walls, glimpsing the sun shining on the other side and are plagued once more by the very question you’ve been avoiding. These walls, so tall and thick, unable to be penetrated; are these walls really their making? Or are they yours?