I used to have a way with words. Maybe, i was only good cause i used to paint with my pain. Dipped it in my red ink and drew lines on the paper. Slowly my red became dull, and I stopped writing. Instead, I slept, maybe I slept all my pain away. Maybe its laying dormant in me. Waiting for the winter to end and come out of hibernation and creep up on me. Like how the weekends creep up on us, slowly and drearily.
But it wont be slow and dreary when it gets here. Ive been hit by a hurricane before, or a tsunami, and a avalanche. It doesnt care how it gets me. It just unloads itself on me, unbothered by how weak and nimble my shoulders have gotten. I fear when it comes, i spend the weeks tiresome and exhausted from performing daily task and work on top. When i get home i dont even talk. Im in my room and im silent for the most part.
In a way i feel like ive been going backwards with life. My words dont flow out of me like they used to, i stop talking in the middle of a sentence cause i have to keep repeating a word till i get it right. I have to take medication for me to feel happy when i didnt need to before. I'm making friends again cause they say you cant just have 1.
Maybe I'll have a way with words again. Maybe I can paint of picture of happiness out of happiness. I see so much in smiles. I see the way the their lips are seldom when their in deep thought, how they smirk when I make the cheesiest of jokes. How our eyes always meet at stop signs. How it feels when they wake me up by brushing my hair behind my ears. Those are just little moments to them, but they're the world to me, and they've already taken that world away from me before.
I used to think those little moments would add up, and theyd realize that i am their world, as they've been mine for so long. Maybe, I cant write cause ive been breaking myself into bite sized pieces for them, each time smaller as they spit me out. Hoping, that each time my little pieces full them up till theyre certain I'm just the right taste. The little rewards I get from them on the daily overjoys me, maybe I dont need a way with words. Maybe I just need to get out. Its conflicting. Ive been kissing those lips for almost 4 years. Theyve become my favourite, and each time they came back I fall roght back into them. The way words roll off their tongue, the way my back curls and your fingers dig deeper into me.
Its hard to leave something so satisfying.
Maybe I don't have a way with words, but i have a way with my addiction
L.G
YOU ARE READING
Melancholy (Poetry)
PoetryPoetry I wrote during the length of a 5 year on and off relationship
