replay

Silently, I find myself archiving all that you left behind. In simple notes and those words in those files, it is only then you are there. As the music plays my mind pulls out selectively all that has your name on it which is signed and enclosed with your invisible hands. I did put them away just long enough for the dust to settle, just enough for me to believe the reminders I put in place. I would test minutes and time again, and then I'll pack and sleep. But I already know this reality too well. Too familiar with the aftertaste. It is not what we have that makes the most sense, it is what we don't. I know you would say I am crazy, I already know the whole script of how the shoutings would be. I cannot keep you. Still. I smile to believe it. I will even lie to believe it. So I will play this one more time just to hear those imprints on lyrics, just to hear your ghost; speak to me. You didn't matter enough to hurt me, but you did. I will turn off the lights in defeat and lie in my bed to wait. I know I should sleep as I will have to pay the price of today, tomorrow. I slipped up.

They said, don't give up. Keep writing. Because when words fail so will I die. How else do I reach out invisible hands to eyes and mind of this reality. Now that we are safely separated by walls, space and cement, this is the only way. Each step I take bring shots of pain, piercing, sharply through every nerves in my lower body, which is actually nothing compared to the other lingering ones that would had done greater damage.

I couldn't write the story. How do I continue an end?