Colours. (finished)

Tears, falling off the earth

Yamaguchi

I awake from the banging on the door, gasping and sitting up too fast trying to catch my breath. The dream, rather the nightmare had been bad there were yelling and a crash.

I knew what the dream was from it was the crash, the one I had lost my sight too. This had been replaying in my thoughts a lot recently.

I could never really see anything only read the pain and the yell of my mother as we collided with the other car.

I don't remember what happened but the screams I could never forget.

It's something that sticks with you forever, even if you want to forget as much as I do.

I stood from bed grabbing my cane by the door, finding the door took a long second. But I made it out into the hallway painless.

The house was quiet, I was still used to it. I disliked this quiet.

The air had happiness, things felt colder than ever though.

I knew I was wanted downstairs but I couldn't bring myself from the spot I stood outside my room.

It had been two months since summer, two months since everything happened. Five months since I've seen my mother, two months since I felt the presence of the apartment. Two months since I've seen him.

He hadn't called, hadn't come by. He said he would. As far as I could tell he fell off the face of the world. But maybe he thought the same.

One day it felt like I just woke up in the house apart from him, alone, but not alone.

Things were strange but ok, strange as in the way every Tuesday they left me alone, ok in the way they took me out three days of the week. Strange in the I had a time I needed to be in my room.

Ok in the I was painting again. Strange that they were teaching me things and talking about college.

I'm living with my mom and her girlfriend, it's strange. I'm still not happy, I think too much and talk too little.

My mom's even been talking about therapy, and how I'd benefit from it, she still has to talk to my mother a lot and the whole getting me here was hard but fast.

I didn't have to deal with her at all. I didn't want to, she said she wanted to see me and see how I was doing, which was bullshit.

She doesn't care, and I shouldn't care about her anymore.

She's already moved now as well, living with a boyfriend, who happens to be the boss of the place she is working for.

Now she's rich and doesn't work, and has fancy clothes.
She'll forget me soon enough.

Painting is the worst, I do it but I feel no love towards it anymore, seeing was all I needed to paint and now that it's taken away I can't bring myself to love it.

Sometimes I'll start and afterward sit and wait for it to dry sometimes for hours, other times for minutes. That's when the tears start coming.

After their dry I run my fingers across the dry paint, feel where the lumps are of the paint I didn't spread good enough. The rough texture giving me some kind of relief even if I know it's not anything special, the colours won't work together or it's bland from all of the colours mixed together to make a murky brown or a gross gray.

I feel the need to yell until my voice gets rough or I lose it all together.

I don't I stay quiet, I don't talk during dinner, I don't ask questions, even if they should be important to me.