I've Got A Feeling

Fourty Four

"Happy birthday, my love." I whispered from my dry and strained throat as the moonlight shone down atop the mysterious colored clock on the wall. I felt tear stains on my face as I went to stretch my face muscles and rub my very warm, tired eyes. Three in the mornin', not bad. Well, I should be getting more than a nap's worth of sleep but what's the point in trying to force anything on your body? I smile, seeing the hair on Paul's face fall to the side as his little mouth hangs the slightest bit open. God, if only I had enough money for a stupid flat. George and Ringo do it, why can't we? Gliding the piece of metal onto my finger, I take a look at the ring Paul spent a fortune on. Of all the things he could have spent the money on, and he decides to spend it on the most worthless person on the planet.

Slowly moving out of his grip without causing him to stir, I walk over to the window. The sky is barren, except for the pearl white moon. I wish Mum was here, to see me happy and in a relationship. I swear it's either my exhausted imagination or some horse shit wizardry, but suddenly one star appeared from the distance in the navy blue sky. I wish she could see just how much of a failure you are. At being a son, boyfriend and husband, everything that everyone else seems to get right. How come you can't get it right? A batch of tears piled up in my eyes as I saw the cosmic object glimmer a plethora of colors, most of which are only seen by the avid listener and person who is willing to look. Someone who is an artist.

Don't do this to me. I've already lost too much in my life for this to be happening. On top of all that, I can't get you out of me head. No matter what I do, you're there every single waking moment at the forefront of my mind, spinning around like a record endlessly. Even when I decide to finally get some rest, there you are again in my dreams. Water seared my skin as it continued to shimmer, brighter than the moon itself. My throat closed sharply, only a little whimper running out in time. I opened the window cautiously, just wanting to breathe in the clean air once instead of drowning in nicotine. I...I can't take this any longer. WHY CAN'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?!

I wiped one of the frigid tears away, feeling my shaky hands as they ran across my skin. Shivers went up my back, as mutterings of voices traveled through my ears.

You can't get rid of me, John. I'm a part of you.

"No yer not, I know yer not. This is not who I am. This is not who I am meant to be and this is not who I want to be. I don't like to drink every single night, barely remembering what happened from the hours previously the next day while throwing up every single morsel of food I had until you felt satisfied, while rubbing my temples from the massive migraine you gave me. I don't like having these thoughts and dreams about my dead best friend that are anything but friendly. I don't like feeling Paul doesn't love me and that he only wanted me for quick shags since the very beginning. I don't like waking up every day feeling like I would rather just stay asleep than face you and the puny world."

I'm the only thing that's keeping you alive.

"This is what feeling alive is like? This is what you think being alive and well is? Well it's not. I was fine before you and your velvet head decided to invade and take over me."

You only say that. You know you need me.

"I don't need you. Go fuck off somewhere else, I have the love of Paul and that's enough for me."

It started to get cold with the window open, for me personally, Paul had swaddled himself in blankets as if he knew I wasn't there. Quietly opening his closet, my sights set on one of his comfy ass looking jumpers he always wears during the winter and early spring. I took one off of its hanger, slipping the wool and cotton mixed jumper over my head. It's a bit too small around the waist and shoulders, but I don't care. Thinking about how many times Paul has worn this makes me smile and think of all the happy memories we've had together. Grabbing my notebook off of the wooden desk in the corner of the room, I flip to an empty page that seems deem-able for my late night sketches.