Oh, the Telltale Heart
It's cold. I'm cold. The cold, the rain, the weather is seeping into me. Making my eyes wet with tears that don't really belong, making my hands stiff with cold aching joints. I'm shaking, sniffling, eyes half open, begging to close. Eyes begging to close out the bright lights and the more-awake faces...My body is aching. Aching and aching and aching. And it hurts to move, it hurts to breathe. Hurts to stay awake but it'd hurt worse to leave and go home. Miss class. Come back. Make things up. Stress out. It's better to hurt, to ache, to shuffle from class to class and learn with a half-functioning brain. It's better to pretend that this Mountain Dew will wake me up. It's better to ignore the loneliness that doesn't leave me, the emptiness that never fills itself...the hollow cries from deep inside that haunt my conscience...haunt my dreams. I dream, I dream, I keep dreaming. And it doesn't go away. It doesn't come back. He doesn't come back. He never will. I'll never feel his arms again, never feel his lips again, never hold his hand again, never feel his heartbeat again...it's all gone, it has been for months now. But for some reason, it won't disappear...it won't stop.
I can't help but hold my breath every time I'm near him, hoping that if he or his girlfriend would stop baby-talking to eachother for one second, that I might catch a beat of that heart. I might hear it. The way I used to. When I'd fall asleep watching television with him, fall asleep to his heartbeat. I keep hoping I'll hear it. But the freezers are always too loud, their voices are always too sticky-sweet and decible-defying. It's sick, that we were so perfect and now we're not. But it's sicker that they're so perfect too. Was I stupid, changing myself to MAKE a perfect relationship? Or are she and I that similar? Or is he just such a dominant character that it doesn't matter if we're different or not--as long as he's in the equation it's that sick-sweet perfect--the kind that you only like if you're a part of it.
I can't help but hate, resent, the fact that he could take something so perfect that we had and make something perfect-er within just a month of that original perfect falling to pieces. It cheapens what we had. Makes me think that if I convince myself enough, I can be perfect like that with anyone. Maybe I can. Maybe if I can just get away from it, get my dreams away from it, then I can move on completely, I can forget this ghost that haunts my every move...and be myself again. Maybe.
I can't help but hold my breath every time I'm near him, hoping that if he or his girlfriend would stop baby-talking to eachother for one second, that I might catch a beat of that heart. I might hear it. The way I used to. When I'd fall asleep watching television with him, fall asleep to his heartbeat. I keep hoping I'll hear it. But the freezers are always too loud, their voices are always too sticky-sweet and decible-defying. It's sick, that we were so perfect and now we're not. But it's sicker that they're so perfect too. Was I stupid, changing myself to MAKE a perfect relationship? Or are she and I that similar? Or is he just such a dominant character that it doesn't matter if we're different or not--as long as he's in the equation it's that sick-sweet perfect--the kind that you only like if you're a part of it.
I can't help but hate, resent, the fact that he could take something so perfect that we had and make something perfect-er within just a month of that original perfect falling to pieces. It cheapens what we had. Makes me think that if I convince myself enough, I can be perfect like that with anyone. Maybe I can. Maybe if I can just get away from it, get my dreams away from it, then I can move on completely, I can forget this ghost that haunts my every move...and be myself again. Maybe.