It's 1:31 am in the morning and I can't sleep. There is no ball of yarn spinning in my stomach. There is no fan spinning in the back of my mind. There is not even a particle of gun powder around the sparks of my heart to signal some kind of do or die moment in this deserted night. All lights are off.

This is what it feels like to live in your shadow. Through all the familiar roads and the once sweet smells of breakfast I waste with every fresh step of regrets. There is no world without Verona walls. There is no north to guide me home. There is no biting cold to signal some kind of do or die moment in this aimless mind.

Walking from nothing to less than nothing, I am crushed by all these books on my back. I carry dictionaries of apologies everywhere I go, to make right by you if given the chance. The twelfth and final chance to prove how sorry I am. I was a dusty picture on a wall. I was the rust in the braids of your crown. You will always be the golden heart wrapped in the body of a simple girl and I, a miner wrapped in explosives lines. Not one word will bring you near. I am dust now. You are a tear I keep in the freezer. You’re forever free, rocked by the wild waves of an ocean of pearls, the way you've always wanted to be.

Labels: artform, book, echo, suspicious activity here