Crumbling Through the Hours

Sunday morning. I had been up since the young hours of the night before. Sleep doesn't come easy anymore...not since that incident.

I sat there at the kitchen table, drinking some sort of Asian tea given to me by a friend, long ago. I sighed in remorse, for what I had done, or failed to do, for that matter.

I crumble through these days. I recall sitting in my chair last night only to realize that my leg was seeping blood from a wound I don't remember having.

A half hour of rumaging through my cabinets for a bandage. Something to dress this wound.

In my dismay, by the time I had found what I was searching for, the bleeding had stopped. I left the bandages out, in case I'd have to return to them.

I sat down and laid my sketchbook out before me, a small drawing caught my eye. It was not my own, but something she had drawn for me. Oh that girl, she held onto my heart so tight. She was my everything.

This loneliness gets to me. Being alone, here, without the slightest comfort. Without the soul that travels with me, I crumble.

Sometimes, I'll go out into the open, the public, just to see if I can sense her presence out here. There are times when I'm sure I feel her, and i sought out to find her. Yet I return, with nothing and no one.

But later that day, I am told that she was there, in an obscure place and if would've looked harder, I would have found her. If only I got a simple hug, full of comfort and love, I would be okay. Atleast for a few hours.

Writing doesn't come easy these days, nothing I write makes sense. My drawings are all that of extreme longing. Some call me an artist, some love these ways of writing. The lonely hollow eyes of the characters I seem to spit out.

These nights I cannot sleep are due to the voices and constant flashbacks of the happier times. They often come into my dreams and strangle me, haunting me to the bones with the happiness I once had. And in the morning, they come to me still, these horrid flashbacks of my once beautiful life. When, for once, my depression and anxiety had subsided, in your arms, oh in your skinny yet strong arms.

I count down the days until my sentence is over and I can run and leap 10 feet long over the cracks in the sidewalk.

And when that happens, a phoenix will rise in place of the watch tower, that stares me down constantly. The planes will cease to attack me and I shall fly upon the currents, the highest trails of life.

There will be a day when I can crawl back out of this hole and rejoin the soul who beckons to me to fly once again.