Twenty-three.

As though I have forgotten where I was the 25th of that month — as though my heart did not shatter in the heat of August — as though when I tried again my ego survived the aftermath untouched.

In the dead of the night as I walk up the road to my bed, I let the tears overwhelm me for ten seconds before these familiar walls surface from the ground up. There goes my mind again, fuelled by all the thoughts of what should have been. That is when the voices return.

And that is when they are all screaming, He’s not coming back.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s