102

introduction

i look across the small room i now call home to see the clock on the bare wall strike 102. lights out was hours ago but as always my abundance of anxiety ridden sleepless nights spent worrying and feeling sorry for myself in a constant state of fear and despair keep me awake. this feeling of self doubt and loss paired with knowledge that i can only get better and that i should be happy. i only think of one thing as i lay awake in the dark room illuminated only with the faint glimmer of moonlight, is that you threw me away when things got tough and that led me here.
the wind whistles and reminds me of you. the rain falls and i remember the times we spent by the window. i remember you in everything around me, even in this numbing place.
my eyes close and i dream of you again.
my door is unlocked and my cup is handed to me. the pills are swallowed and the proof is shown. the nurse leaves and i follow. the main hall is open filled with he's she's and them's. everyone walks and everyone sits. some talk and some write. nobody notices me, i walk freely between each body and through each conversation and nobody, not one person asks how someone like me ended up in a place like this. i don't know if it's because they don't care or maybe they think they know, and truth is, they might. I'm no extraordinary story. I'm nothing special, nothing different, but I'm me and that counts for something. i was thought i was a part of a thing called us but you ripped that apart and i became me and you became you.
the day passed as i sat at my desk and wrote you poetry you'll never read. the combination of my love for the works of Shakespeare and your love for the works of Van Gogh inspired today's piece of word vomit the took hours to arrange into anything coherent and even slightly poetic. my page, filled with scribbles and arrows and little doodles of your face and how i always remember the way your eyebrows looked the first day we met, read thus;
"they say that words paint a thousand pictures but whether i be Van Gogh or Shakespeare nothing i create could match the artistry of you.
be it Starry Night or Sonnet 43 no word or stroke of a brush could compare to the beauty you possess."