A Mirage. That's what I kept convincing myself. It was all a goddamn mirage. But the cracks in my spine and the glass promises slithered on my neck keep telling me otherwise.
A mirage? Not really.
The mirage was what I had built in my head of me and him.
The mirage was when I laid down in a bed of lies and unrequited love thinking it's alright.
The mirage was when I put my heart in hands that only knew how to kill thinking I'll survive.
Well joke's on me cause I died.
My lungs breathe just fine but the cracks in the middle of my back that won't let me stand straight and the memories that make it all sound so real and the smug stares that burn holes in my skin make me question how a soul can live when it has nothing to survive for, how a ribcage can remain still when it has nothing to protect, how blood circulates when the veins have dried out and fell off their steams.
Because I was once a giver who didn't know when to stop, and right when I decided to draw the line I had already lost all that I could give, and it was too late.
But you never know that it's too late until it's 4 am and your throat is tightening, the memories are rolling out of your eyes and there's a hole the size of his fist resting in the middle of your chest, empty but weighs so goddamn heavy that it makes you tumble to the ground and the cracked bones that didn't fully recover break all over again...
You're back to square one; missing someone that was never there.
YOU ARE READING
The Chaos Of A Human.Being
RandomA couple of words thrown around in the form of thoughts.
