Your username is pulled up on my Instagram for the thousandth time today. Your profile is on private but I can tell it's you by the small circular display picture.
Biting on the hangnail on my right thumb, my finger hangs over the follow button. I've been going back and forth, indecisive. With another frustrated sigh, I lock my phone and press the heels of my hands over my eyes; hard.
The blackness behind the action only lasts a millisecond before there's an explosion of colour; memories.
Sore stomachs from laugher, inside jokes and free moments always spent in each other's presence. Whispered promises, desires, wants and needs at half past midnight.
Tears of regret, mistake, heartache, eye aversions and mini heart attacks in the hallways.
I dig my hands into my eyes harder.
Now I don't know what to think all these years later.
I consider the time we spent together as one of the happiest I have ever been. But after the way you treated me I began to see you clearer. Did you ever really want me? Did you ever really love me? Was I ever truly happy?
Or was our story all just smoke and mirrors?
YOU ARE READING
Solitude
PoetryJust writings I've done during late nights about aspects in my life and world issues, topped with some short stories.
