Inspired by Yuna.
I hung up a picture of you on this wall called my heart. It fell down five times since, but I refuse to give up. It hurts too much to look at you, and even more to take it down. Sometimes I sit there and stare. Pretend I can feel your hair in my hands, and taste you on my lips. Wonder how you’ve been, and what you’ve been up to. But most of all, if there’s any remnants of me in your house. In your head. In your heart. I miss you.
I keep your memories on a shelf in my mind. So cluttered, and messy – yet I know where each and everything lies. Cab rides at dawn, and balcony kisses at night. I hoard feelings until there’s no room left, and collect unnecessary burdens because I just can’t seem to sweep them under a rug, or better yet out the door. It’s my fault, I put you on a pedestal. I shouldn’t feel this way.
I try and try to make things pretty, but still feel ugly inside. I buy flowers, and tell me I love me. I frame a smile, but the bigger picture always makes me feel so small. So I use a step ladder and get my hopes up. I do this all the time. I just can’t do it right. I get excited. I even let myself enjoy it for a little bit. Just a little bit. Until I take a step back, and realize I did it all wrong.
I guess that’s what happens when you decorate your house before it’s finished being built.
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