"And I could feel my mind slipping away from you and needing, craving to kill because that was all I had left. Your memories and the bracelet wasn't enough. Nothing was enough...So I threw myself into the ocean in hopes to get to the bottom. At tha...
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'Cause I couldn't even be her if I tried I'm opposite, I'm on the other side I feel all these feelings I can't control Oh no, don't know why All this sympathy is just a knife Why I can't even grit my teeth and lie? I feel all these feelings I can't control Oh no, don't know
- Sympathy is a knife, Charli XCX.
"...Michael?"
He stood in front me with the residue of my last attention floating to the crowds of trees. The instant our eyes met, all obsessions for him faded and reduced to a pale scrutiny. Even his name lacked pleasure and fell flat from my lips. It was final- I was actually over him, I knew how it felt, and it sobered me up like crazy.
In the saddest way, I was reminded why I fell in love by what he became: his natural, confident facial expressions were now shaky hands. What was once sharp features on his face became shallow, and brown eyes no longer lit by youth. His locs laid lifeless against his face, and he hunches over me with sorrow clinging like wet clothes while his own clothes were a bit tattered and dirty.
There was a time where Michael would come to me in a similar state, heartbroken and I would instinctively grab his chin to pull him away from the source of his distress. Habitually pulling his head towards my neck and nursing him with praise. If necessary, lower himself between my lips just so he could say, in the end, no guilt, "It's still her, Veronica. "
I back away from Michael. He was radiating something that made me freeze. A type of melancholy that was possessing. Ghoulishly sorrowful it chilled me with nostalgia and unease. I realize he is stranger than ever as my confusion spoke.
"Where have you been?"
"...Here."
My head cocks back, eyes lowering away from him.
"What are you talking about?"
He inhales then leads with a crisp laugh. "Good to see you talking...Even when I heard you stutter awhile back, I was relieved. Thought you would go mute forever."
Usually, Michael would speak to me as if he had hot coal in his mouth: cautious and charisma tailing his tongue like smoke. I used to think what followed was compassion but it was guilt. Maybe behind that guilt was a double tongue. Now, his eyes were squinting at me in suspicion.
