The boy who lived...

"There was a death that day, wasn't there?"
She asked. Who had died that night? Did I die alone? Did I suffer alone? It's a funny kind of feeling, the pain. The irony. Sharing the hurt with the one who hurt you. While one lives, the other is merely in exile, for they can't exist together. And yet, as queer as it may sound, they become companions in pain. Noone chose to, the suffering came to them both. As guilt, to one, and as pain to the other.
"Must I share this with you?", she asked. "Anything, if it makes it go away, my dear." and he shed a little tear for her. Was that salt water the medicine to her wound?
My mind is yours, my love. The thoughts, you've taken them with you. It runs through the meadow, while i lay here, hoping, and wanting.

A moment's folly? Or was it an intentional crime?

It left me wounded, my love. And my heart still lies with you. In the wilderness. Where you buried it.

Somebody did die that night.

While my thoughts still wander in the meadows, and with lips that can taste your tears, I yearn. To say goodbye. To the boy, that died.

falling out

On a lonely monday morning, she lay in bed with her eyes open. She can't remember the last time she slept. She could only feel the weight of every breath she took. And the force of every move she had to make to get by. And every time her lips broke into a smile. Just like she did every morning, she questioned. Life, reality, and her existence.
With every breath she felt life entering her lungs. And she felt a blow in her chest every time she exhaled. She was an island. cut off. But somehow, alive.
What is the truth? I am tired, just like you. Must I pretend to love you.
I want to crawl back into your arms. Kindly give me some space my dear. And hold me till I don't have to breath anymore.