Snow

I want it to snow.

No, here, at night, in the middle of summer.

I want that small miracle, that small little something that will make all my dreams and wishes come true. I want that little… Spark. That makes everything worth it.

I want to walk in the snow, to feel the wind bite at me, at my legs and my arms and my tear-stained face. I want that cold, foreboding wind and lonely snowflakes.

I want it to rain.

I want to let the sky cry for me.

But I want to cry—and I did.

It’s too late for me.

I never should have cried. I never should’ve thrown that away.

I never should’ve wasted something so pure and innocent; it’s my fault and it’s never going to be anyone else’s.

And maybe it’s not true—I’m sure it is. It can’t be a lie.

I just trashed that mirror and granted myself seven years’ bad luck.

I want thunder and lightning and the Heavens tearing the sky apart.

I want to stop feeling this… But it makes me feel so good, so alive.

I want to walk in the dark, in the rain or in the snow, knowing that it can numb my feelings, that it can take all this away. I want this to have a happy ending.

Not a heart-scarring one.

I want to let that mask fall back in place, but after having it crushed and destroyed and burned… It’s hard to go back to that after knowing such sweet relief.

He let me be who I really am. He made me feel like it was okay to break down, okay to cry and whine and be sad. He made me feel like I could cry on his shoulder, like I didn’t have to carry the world on me.

He made me feel like I wasn’t alone.

I wasn’t alone.

I wasn’t alone.

I’m not alone.

But I still am.

I was so close—I could almost taste it. I could see it, feel it, touch it at the tip of my fingers. And it slipped away. Just like that, with a few words.

I let that feeling run away, the ambition and the hope.

I crushed it.

Clipped its wings. Burned them.

And I feel like what I’ve always caricatured; lonely, so far away from home. I have no one to come home to, no one to look forward to meeting every day.

It’s like nothing I do means anything anymore. I just lay there, on the bed or on the couch, and I sigh. And I cry. And I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything’s lost its spark.

I lay there. And think. And cry.

And I cry.

And I cry.

And I cry and I shouldn’t cry.

I need to be strong for those who count on me. I need to be calm, cool and collected for those who need me.

I need to be everything for everyone but I can’t seem to find it in me to go back to that anymore. Not after I’ve been offered to be who I am. Not after I’ve been told that being weak is okay, it’s okay it’s okay.

It’s my fault it’s my fault it’s my fault.

And I can’t talk, can’t talk can’t talk can’t talk.

Just can’t talk.

And I can’t change the page. I want to stay there and wonder about what the happy ending could be. I want to wonder how happy would feel in such a cold place.

I want to wonder and dream and lose myself in those dreams that seem so real.

I don’t want to wake up.

Don’t.

Don’t.

Don’t.