Little Deaths

A ghost of you is everywhere. I feel dumb, helpless and enlightened. I think about all the places where we used to go every weekend. Restaurants, our faces, laughing. Trust, ease, feeling comfortable. Where the fuck did it all go? I refuse to think about quantum bullshit.

Your face.

Your shiny eyes.

Your ridiculous ideas.

Me, trying to reassemple the corpse of what was, trying to reglue its little pieces to each other so that we can laugh together again.

They fall apart.

I cry.

I cry stubbornly because all wisdom of the world cannot make me forget.

I feel alone.

You must be feeling alone in your corner of town, blaming me, blaming yourself, accusing me of being a coward.

My tears are real.

I want to wake up and forget about all sorrows, wake up to you and your laughter. Why does everything have to die?