The early morning brought your face back to me, for an instant that would enrage old sores. Ancient aches that seem untamed. Feelings of misery and a numbing soul manifesting.
I woke up in anger, as I hadn’t in a while. I feared for the happiness within me. I blamed myself but for less than five minutes, this time. I no longer remember the color of your eyes. Though I still remember their blatant clearness, unaware of the rocky delusions inside.
Madness surges and takes in numerous forms, some of which I am completely unfamiliar with. I rested my head on my pillow and breathed out. It was just strange pictures that dared to be painted in my head.
I looked around the bedroom in an attempt to get grounded. It all seemed like a surreal occurrence. The sun shone coyly through the cracks in the blinders. The curtains were drawn back. The bed was under my body. I was breathing.
I remembered the moments where my feelings for you weren’t as dark and twisted. Oh, to long for innocence!
I remembered how I wished for you to draw lines on my figure with your hands, longing.
I remembered how we started tracing a path with words, uncorrupted poetry and glasses of lager beer.
I remembered how I wished for your eyes to meet mine and your lips to smile parallel to me.
Now, all I know is the anger I wasn’t able to cast out back then. And that’s what I have to process in the five minutes that I allow for self-blaming.
(I don’t care about the color of your eyes, which I wouldn’t even consider for a second again. I don’t care about the sweet things I thought you provoked within my soul. I don’t care about our delusions, my delusions, your delusions.)
I look at the blocked window and I let the madness out. I am angry and rightfully so. I never got the time to let it go. But now I do. I let it go and I let you go.
I say “Good riddance” to the character you once represented in our own mythology. This hubris shall hurt me no more!
Vintage Soul Veronica 