𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 ⚊ 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝘀𝗲

𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐘

You hold so much agony within. It feels like you're the epitome of melancholy. I can even see the sadness, somewhere between the palms, joint in the outlines that line your hands, somewhere between your hair, hanging loose and so you cut it short, keep it close, tucked away in a ponytail.

Like the iris of your eyes, devoid, yet splashing, clashing with the colour of life, and yet, it is black, like a void.

Somewhere between our chests I guess, this gloomy feeling dwells, between the space of your hand and my back: how you just don't hold me, hug me tight by putting your palm on my back, or is it somewhere between my hand and your back, how even after holding you so tight, even after keeping you so close, you still hold the sadness and not me, how even when flushed together, even when we're so warm, you still swell so cold.

Or, perhaps you keep it between your soft toys, somewhere between the spaces of the plushies of yours, when they're pushed together to fit on your bed.

Maybe you really do carry it, the sadness, between the spaces of your loose clothes, living somewhere between your oversized clothing, filling up the space your own bones couldn't fill.

Perchance this sad feeling, this grey cloud above your head, it bloomed in your mother's lap, somewhere tucked between your head and her legs, the feeling gets born, and now it chases you like you used to chase your mum when you were a kid, wrapping your small hand around her finger.

Or, maybe it lives somewhere between the pockets in the pants of your father, somewhere kept, like a paper, meant to be read but forgotten, and now it dwells there, and in your hands, in which the paper was supposed to be, but it is, forgotten, unremembered.

Maybe this, this sadness you carry, it remains between your parted lips, between the words you say and the ones that dwell on the tip of your tongue.

Or, it really is between your tongue and the space between the bottle of alcohol you're holding right now. One second away from being swallowed, but then the agony will just live in your mouth, spreading over your teeth, your tongue, rotting them, making them motionless, and then the words bridging at your tongue will just be dead and your mouth would be all a whole graveyard. Then perhaps the sadness will slide through your throat and maybe not in your stomach, but blossom in your lungs, and maybe that's why sometimes you just can't breathe──

Or, maybe you've always been happy. A smile painted upon your lips. It feels like a whole tragedy is born in your eyes, and still, the souls of your beloved trace each fibre of your eye, giving it colour, but perhaps even too much colour is sickening, so that's why they make your irises devoid.

Maybe your face always held serenity, soft, tranquil, they look so at peace, i can almost touch happiness reflecting off your skin, gliding upon your bones. Or, maybe you've always been happy, bubbling, even bursting with joy. Maybe your eyes always held the same spark of joy seen in the night skies when fireworks burst.

Maybe happiness was what you wore. But I can't tell whether it was a mask or your clothes.

Maybe sadness never existed in the world of yours, maybe never a shade of grey was seen by you, maybe you were always a statue, but seen, known, loved; happy.

Maybe sadness was just a reflection I had always seen, perhaps it coated me. Like lost in a mist, I was lost in this fog of melancholy, the grey clouds dwelling as if they had their home here only, above my existence. Maybe this rain of grief only knew the address to my sorrow, maybe this pang of pain only had one place to reside, maybe this sudden hurt I feel in my chest was the only place it to go.

And, maybe, you were always happy and I was just sad, seeing happiness somewhere afar when I didn't even know it existed, and so I reflected, thinking it was the same sadness that consumed me, little by little, like the happiness did to you. Little by little, consuming you, and so you thought all I knew was happiness like you, too.

...and not agony you felt.