Work Text:
You look out the window from your view on the bed. It’s dark, the lights flash off skyscrapers like the constellations above them. Tall buildings and high hopes, separated by bars of white.
I wish I could break the mold, lean out too far, almost falling, just on the edge.
The night breeze is welcoming, a familiar feeling. It surrounds you when your heart beats too heavily, the thumping a constant drone. It’s tired, keeps a steady beat because it has no other choice.
You’ve heard too much blood can drown you. A heart that pumps too much blood, beats too fast, carries too much weight, is a disease.
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It’s dark outside, but it’s worse inside. Clothes haphazardly thrown in a closet, the humming of a laptop as it charges. There were droplets on the floor yesterday; they’ve been washed away. The walls hide secrets that no one cares about.
The shadows of the lights outside reach the ceiling. You look up and cushion yourself further into the pillows.
It’s comfortable, this loneliness. It feels exaggerated and warm, like the embers of a fire that gets too close. With your eyes open but heart closed, you dream of a place far away from home. A place cold, silent, just as dark, but yours. Your safe haven is a quiet place away from everyone else, where you can breathe a little easier, where you smile a little less.
It feels like faded oranges and dark blues, covered in shadows and sprinkled in the scent of cinnamon. Isolated, alone, but honest. It’s in that space you ask yourself questions you pretend don’t exist.
How much longer? A few days? Months? When you’re alone and the world falls silent, you hear something ticking. What does it count down to? What’s at the end?
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Time feels likes it’s on a leash that’s almost broken. How much longer do I have left? Sometimes when you close your eyes and your daydreams fade, there are ovals of oranges and blues and whites, other times balcony railings and spilled water. The images are taped onto the back of your eyelids; placed gingerly with delicacy that darkness should not posses. They don’t burn, but they persist.
A reminder. Time is not on anyone’s side, and yours feels oddly limited.
You blink and you’re in your room again. It’s quiet, it’s dark and it’s late. The nausea from the night before is almost gone. You never spit the mixture of bitter circles and ovals out like you said you would, but it didn’t hurt you anyway. Just left a bad aftertaste. It’s disappointing but not unexpected.
Tomorrow is another day. Maybe it will be better. Maybe I’ll be better. It’s an empty promise, but there’s nothing else you can offer right now.
You turn to your side and exhale, the blanket covering your face. The soft music playing from your phone is a lullaby. Tomorrow.