It happens in the middle of the night, when a bad dream suddenly wakes you up, and you find yourself feeling most alone than ever. Your pillows are prepared to be soiled with tears. Yet you are never prepared to cry.
Instead, you watch the beams of light distinctly directed at the foot of your bed, and you try to remember the dream you just had. But only his face contains your thoughts. You remember the way he looks at you differently. You always thought it meant something else.
Did it mean something else? It did mean something else.
The hours eat up the span of darkness and suddenly, your eyes adjust to the shift of colors. The room is filled with tints of a blackened orange, like the fruit dirtied by charcoal. You remember the tone of his voice when he said that he loves you intensely. You remember the tone of his voice when he said that he’s about to leave you for someone else.
It didn’t mean something else. He did mean someone else.
Your room takes up as much sunlight as it could, and you shed a tear or two from the harsh brightness of a new day. You remind yourself why there is none of his solid breathing staining your skin, burning it mercilessly, like an acidic sting on your wounded exterior. You think of it the way you ward off a nightmare the exact minute before you surrender to sleep. And you wish that forgetting him was as easy as waking up from last night’s bad dream.
But it isn’t, is it? He’s a bad memory you’re going to try to forget your whole goddamn life.
Ay shet lang ‘to
And you wish that forgetting him was as easy as waking up from last night’s bad dream.
But it isn’t, is it? He’s a bad memory you’re going to try to forget your whole goddamn life.
