The warm glow of the TV comforts me as I proceed to sleep alone tonight, as I’ve done every night since you’ve been gone.
Colours dull out.
Sounds shatter against deaf ears.
Words loose upon my lips.
-The TV is now but noise.
Noise; Angry, agitated scratching against a cold and rusty door.
-Your final call for the night.
Soon enough I’ll drift away;
To pleasant skies,
And open plains.
Soon enough, you’ll be the sun,
Beaming against my rugged face;
Keeping me warm,
Holding me true.
I hope he’s good to you.
I hope he gives you strength.
I’m not done loving you,
But I’m done self-loathing,
I’m done waking up every morning wondering what I could have done differently.
Because, truth be told, difference is what tore us apart.
Difference is what added another in our story of two.
I haven’t grown because these wings are clipped.
I must perch upon the mountain of my self-doubt,
And molt the disfigurement and weakness from my heart.
Find myself again.