I miss you.
I remember taking long walks with my father, the cool summer breeze rushing against my soft innocent skin. The world didn't hurt, it didn't shun me, it didn't sing the lonely and dreary hopeless songs of fear and artificial happiness. The old meshed with the new, and life seemed so long and safe. I was five years old, and I hadn't outgrown the shoes that guided me through a planet of simplicity and warm surroundings.
My first rude awakening was on a dark night, the smell of my mother pressed against my sweaty cheek. I heard screams and sirens. A narrow hallway disillusioned me in the darkness. Bright lights calling my name. My heart was wrestless and bitter. I crept down the path just in time to witness my father being arrested. Struggling with all his might to rip free, and grab the knife that lay blood- stained on the floor. My mother screaming.
I stand underneath the shower nozzle, playing memories through my head. Remembering things I can never take back, things they can never change for me, things I wish I could forget, things that ease trembles across my lips. Sometimes things just seem more real when you can play them back, over and over, and remember why you smile, and remember why you frown.
Does anyone else find it hard to be alive? Hard to wake up each morning, knowing it will all end, like a tragic play, or comedy, with the world staring at you from above? When I fall asleep I forget where I am, and loose myself in lucid dreams where breathing doesn't matter. Where will you go?