The silence of the night presses down on me as I lie awake.
Intervals, as I blink, flashbacks fill my head. I concentrate on breathing, and I seem to give explicit concentration on every itch my body decides to have. Are you aware of your body parts right at this moment?
Intervals, as I blink, flashbacks fill my head. I concentrate on breathing, and I seem to give explicit concentration on every itch my body decides to have. Are you aware of your body parts right at this moment?
Any moment now, an itch will come. Maybe on your arm? Your hand... no? Scalp. Nose. Back. Leg. Foot. Ears. Neck. I'm not even thinking of anything in particular, but the gnawing feeling is there. All too familiar.
The feeling of loneliness.
The feeling of not being enough.
Being replaceable.
Being bland & boring.
Being too complicated.
Being misunderstood.
Or worse, being too insignificant to even be given some time to be listened to.
There are moments when I sit, waiting for you. Waiting for you to run to me. To be afraid of the flames that consume you due to relentless passion. The excitement of tomorrow, and what's in store for us. The magic. The chemistry. The promise.
But none came. And it stresses me out. For I know deep inside, this once two-sided mirror that reflected the fire of my emotions, is now fogged up.
This is merely reduced to me, looking up at the sky in the middle of the night, marveling at the depths and beauty of it. While the sky looks back, and barely notices me. For I am a mere fabric on the weave of the universe, and the sky has no time to look up-close, let alone crave for my presence.
Nothing interesting here. I lie awake.
The feeling of loneliness.
The feeling of not being enough.
Being replaceable.
Being bland & boring.
Being too complicated.
Being misunderstood.
Or worse, being too insignificant to even be given some time to be listened to.
There are moments when I sit, waiting for you. Waiting for you to run to me. To be afraid of the flames that consume you due to relentless passion. The excitement of tomorrow, and what's in store for us. The magic. The chemistry. The promise.
But none came. And it stresses me out. For I know deep inside, this once two-sided mirror that reflected the fire of my emotions, is now fogged up.
This is merely reduced to me, looking up at the sky in the middle of the night, marveling at the depths and beauty of it. While the sky looks back, and barely notices me. For I am a mere fabric on the weave of the universe, and the sky has no time to look up-close, let alone crave for my presence.
Nothing interesting here. I lie awake.
Again, I scratch an imaginary itch.
Shine
01/10/2016
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