sunrise over swamps

sunset over melancholy seas

Poem 1 of 30

on April 2, 2013

I.

I’ve been losing sleep over him, again.

It’s the perpetual churning of my mind, again: it took on a momentum of its own some time ago, and I can’t seem to make it stop.

Lie on my left side: stare at the walls with the stripes of streetlight entering through the cracks in the tattered curtains. Lie on my right side: stare at the windows, and think of how outside is nothing but the concrete confines of the prison that my life became when I least expected it.

Somehow the dreams and the vision failed to germinate and take root at the right time. It was too late, and the hopes died long before they could have lived.

I want it to stop. Thinking about it doesn’t help. Not thinking about it: impossible. It happens on its own, it invades my subconscious, it fills my waking moments and my dreams. I can’t sleep as long as it goes on.

Lie on my back: stare at the ceiling and the hateful off-white paint cast in nighttime’s shadow and moonlight.

Get up. Walk around. Lie down again. Still the same, endless thoughts.

II.

Then comes the morning, with its grey light and dead promises.

I see him, and he speaks to me. He tells me it’s not working anymore. What’s not working? His life, his path. He wants the consolation, the sympathy and the comfort. He doesn’t care that it comes from me. It could have come from a corpse or a celebrity or a figment of his imagination, for all I’m worth to him.

I am just the object, not of love or even lust. Just an object, a worthless figure in the room. A by-product of his awareness.

I throw myself over and over into the words he says. I weigh each thought, gauging the emotion, seeking the meanings and grasping at each syllable, hoping to find somewhere in his speech that maybe, just maybe, he would not be able to sleep because of me, too.

Then reality sneaks in, so cruel and cold.

There is no love, no hope for one such as me.

It’s just an endless parade of broken dreams

while he takes what he can from me. He doesn’t even realise that I was there for him, wanting him to see me, all along,

And that I’ll still be there, tomorrow, if he wants me to be –

Having lost another night’s sleep.

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