how many times have i passed this roundabout?
i can almost remember the feeling of not knowing where to go next.
and yet i know that the road which led me there is a dead end.
and so, going round in circles again and again.
i just want to say goodbye already, stop the cyclical routine and let the rain wash over me, drop by drop cleansing me of the past, as i wait for the rainbow to make its vapid mark in the sky.
he asks me time and time again: why? and i realise that i have no reply, because i no longer understand the question. what do you mean, why? i retort, my voice like that of a child lost in the woods, the echo lost on the four walls surrounding me.
he doesn’t hear me.
it’s all impersonal. done by text.
that’s how we fight. he’s fighting for this love, me – against it. somehow i know i’m right. there was never any real love. it’s all a lie.
– “I’m not takin no for an answer. This is stupid.”
– “It’s a shame reali but ain’t not goin bak. Sorry”
– “I love you.” … “I miss you.”
and what do i reply to that?
there’s nothing you can reply to that you tell me that when you hold me. hold me just tight enough. just loose enough.
and i can breathe again, the air so clear after the rain.
come. hold me again.