𝗖𝝝𝗟𝗗 𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗘

𝗙𝝝𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗡

Little specks spread around the edge of what we call endless. Some big others small, visible or faint, if they were to be called something at all. Every risen dot an opportunity, whole different story. Empty slot.

New ones appear so other ending can be written. Yet the old ones remain, hopefully to never be forgotten.

Silence so loud, it overtakes like a thick scarf wrapped around my throat. Pressuring fragile lungs whenever it would rub against the burned skin beneath many layers of scratchy wool.

You create your reality trough thoughts, my mother used to say.

I should have listened to her more often back then. Maybe my imagination would've stopped tricking me before it took over.

Heavy fabric tightens whenever a word would threat to cross my mind, the desire to let out a heavy breath, undoable. Chocking on every silent question tied inside.

The outcome, mostly predictable. I now know for a fact she meant those things when they left her lips. Yet I, never believed.

My surroundings seem frozen and so does my mind. Thin silky wind caressing over tired eyes.

I don't think it has ever been this quiet before.

The imaginary scarf tugs tighter when my lips part for a second too long. Eager to share what's buried within, even if it meant someone would hear it.

Spiky memories float over a thousand times.

Passing by, to swirl right around that empty-feeling side.

The barricade unties, slipping away to expose breezy air and an unguarded neck. No trace of thoughts to speak aloud when I'm reminded by a silhouette.

The person isn't gone, just turned to me with his back.

No longer under attack by what felt like a fucked up scene inside a video game. The trace left permanent, hard to erase.

We sit in complete stillness, no one intending to break the long pause.

Of whatever this has been since the moment I leaned against the cold wooden bench backrest. Surrounded by nothing but trees at a seemingly abandoned park.

Covered by the dark, so not even the street lamp a few meters away, stands a chance in fighting the stars shining brighter way past midnight.

Their spark bigger than all the city live combined.

Eyes fixated on the space above, taking in the faint specks of light as if to regain theirs. Even when all of us are long gone and buried, they will remain.

I wonder how they still stand one another after endless company.

And when I think a thought and don't choke as I swallow, a part of me feels restored.

Like I can't fucking await tomorrow.

A shift in positions scares away all ghosts who might've followed.

"Still feel like trowing up?" Unexpected question out of the blue, dragging away my attention to force me looking at something else than this endless place.

I can barely see anything after the race, but for some reason it is so perfectly visible to me, his face.

"No," I shake my head ever so tightly, the whisper softening his brows ever so lightly.

But yet rolling his eyes. Ready to stand up and walk back to the ride.

I simply avoid to think any more, therefore don't stop myself when a crow cracks along my impulsive word row.