The below story is just a quick one I wrote a while ago and I've decided to offer it as a sacrifice to you all.
3.00
Darkness wraps itself around everything while a chill blankets the world. Tuesday, 3.00 am, and once again I’m wide awake. He thinks I cant hear him cry, thinks I dont know about all those 3.00 am’s he spends wrestling with your ghost.
The shadows are black against deep grey and the oranged glow from the street lamp outside cast eerie shadows across the walls through the slanted blinds I never get around to closing properly. Distant sounds of cars passing, even at this hour, seem muted by the oppressive darkness; sounding hollower and lonely.
He’s hidden himself away under the dim yellow glow of a single lamp as he bleeds his heart out onto rough lined paper. Page after page of his own personal hell. His mind’s layed out like empty corridors for his heartache to tread.
Day comes and he thinks i dont notice his distant eyes, like blinds pulled tight over startling blue. He’s a million miles away torturing hiself with the memory of a kiss in the rain and tentive hands over flushed skin.
Nothing he can say will bring you back, so instead he washes the dishes in the sink, sightless eyes staring out the window to the dirty streets below; while newspapers he always says he’ll throw away pile up on the floor like flimsy towers of heartfelt words.
But for now while the night lingers we hide away in our cacoons of warmth and heartache. Tomorrow he’ll pretend his vacant eyes see and the burn in his chest isnt there, and in return I’ll pretend I dont know about all the 3.00 ams he spends wrestling with your ghost.
End
