i.
I believed in magic too soon.
Once upon a time, a hug was just a hug, and I smiled because you were my friend. Our laughter ignited the city with a newfound energy and spiraled up into the galaxies of a thousand stars. There were no unspoken emotions; every whispered promise was cradled between our sensitive hands. I viewed the world in ambers and violets and jades until you began to penetrate my mind, and then all I could see was black and gray. My heart ruptured because I thought you were different.
ii.
One more chance to get it wrong.
I can’t remember when you started to strangle me against your charming persona. You tossed me unexpectedly into a whirlwind of mystification where simple words became complicated and the tension was our enemy. Sometimes I wanted to touch it, but I was afraid it might burn my fingers. When I asked how you were doing, you just looked at me with aching eyes.
iii.
Just another silly routine.
The sun rises and sets all the same, everyday, and so do my hopes that you’ll show up again. Empty and forlorn, I followed your invisible footprints down the hall into my room. If only you’d tell me why you stuck around here for so long. I wrapped Christmas lights around my mirror, so I could see myself the way you see me, in a sort of dim and feeble glow that exposes my vulnerability.
vi.
Torture is the best medicine.
You’re back, leaning against my doorframe, a casual smirk on your face. I just bite my tongue and greet you with cheeriness, but down inside the darkest caverns of my heart, I’m dying over and over again. I can’t believe you think everything is still the same, but I expected it from you this time.
v.
Goodbye what I never had.
Sometimes I still tremble when you touch me and I can vaguely see an outline of your other world that I can never be a part of. I know it and you know it, but we don’t acknowledge it. Instead, we just sit here quietly, accepting the silence that is more powerful than anything we could ever dream of saying. A hug is still a hug and I’m not colorblind anymore.
vi.
Tell me when I’m going to live again.
Later that night, before I crawl into bed, I lock away all the memories of “us” into a wooden cabinet and throw the key out the window. To this day, I can still hear them pounding to be let out.
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