The dust settles in my mind

There are hidden feelings underneath, trying to poke through the surface. If I am still enough, I hear you. A whisper can be heard in all the places we have ever been. Where we are standing is how we are now. Your footprints leaves muddy marks all over the place whilst I tread softly in a way not to disturb the peace. I've learnt the hard way in which this be true. Did you know your prints are only yours to keep and no one can replicate them. In a way that's the hardest thing for us to discover these things can never be erased but will leave a stain of the memory always. I smile knowing this to be both a good and bad thing. Things are never as bad as they seem in a moment your eyes look my way again and that cheeky grin appears on your face, I blink and you are gone again. The taps are dripping but the bath is empty some one left the plug out and now its broken. The chain remains but the plug left this place days ago. I'm counting in case this becomes something that will ma

I'm standing on the edge and you are on the other side. It is unclear if you are waiting for me or not. But what is becoming more and more apparent is that we are spending our lives looking for things in the wrong places. You left the party a long time ago and all that remains in the crumpled photo I have kept in my pocket I use least often in a way to keep you at a distance to stop my heart from breaking. I'm good at keeping a distance even if it hurts me secretly to do so. Making a big song and dance has never been the way I do things, if it is right it will come back like that bird who comes and visits daily to sing to me in our garden. The sounds just can not reach others in this way. Its different with us, I can't put my finger on the exact point of what it is, its a feeling that is out there in the air and will never fade. Its simple. We are on the edge of other peoples lives. And your name is painted in big letters all over the places I find myself in. I hope the noi

You were gone in the blink of an eye. The bed is messy and empty without you but filled with all our secrets. The mess is everywhere. The remains of everything you left behind are covering the carpet like scars across my face. That hole is still there. Right in the middle. That floorboard, yes you know the one I mean is poking up through like it knows the truth. I hate the look on its face its almost smirking if not laughing at me knowing exactly how these things pan out. The next steps of what I would still be yet to accept. I invited you in and you took everything you could except the bed. Even the trimmings on the shelf and those notebooks no one ever used. It was important to you somehow and my bed is a safety net protecting me from the world but couldn’t protect you. It saved me from you. The passing of time makes these things harder and harder to grasp on to but not so much to forget. Memories are a troublesome thing. Is it me or is it you, who knows what the truth is until its k

It is funny somehow, I know you will hardly be able to swallow the truth of the matter. But I will come right out and say it. The nights are cold a bit like death. It's like sleeping with a fridge, a second hand one that no body wants or will tolerate any longer. The edges are hard and difficult to hold. The handle is particularly tricky. You of all people know how much I can't bare the cold. The insides are empty and the door is left ajar like my skin has peeled away and my body has shrivelled up and left out to dry, like your old paintings you no longer care for. You are difficult to grasp and keep falling in between my fingers into the spaces where words fail us. We are left stuck inside the cracks. The past is creeping up on me again like the coldness of the dawn and the flickering and buzz of the fridge is calling out to you. The sounds are getting louder as each minute passes us by and there are less and less things to say. It becomes a promise that remains stuck inside.