A room full of Cliché

Sitting opposite to you, holding your gaze and there, in the way your gaze dances I find freedom. The freedom that chases down my throat, the sensation of the sun on my skin as I tilt my head up to the sky.
Standing by you, enclosed in a bubble, seeing the outside through an iridescent sheath. Our view made beautiful by how fragile, how transcendent the moment is.
The bubble will burst soon, and I’ll see it’s ghost in a single tear drop that the cemented parapet drinks in hungrily.

Staring at the sunset that means nothing to you, I’m at one with the romance in the wind, but the romance is nothing without you. In the lines of my palm, in the pain, the steady unending ache that reminds me of what could have been.

Are you a cliché? Why is loving you so mundane that I am surprised at myself? Standing before the mirror, almost surprised at the neat hole in my chest. I don’t even know when it happened, or maybe I knew it all along. Smiling slowly, feeling your gaze on me, the surprise at a dormant heart that kick-starts.
I’m surprised, so surprised at how natural your bruises feel on me. Your heart break is like reaching the end of a book and realising I had read it once, long ago.

Broken dreams, a room full of shards, reflecting the ghosts of smiles, of wretched hope and sitting on marble steps, feeling the cold seep into my thighs


I can’t hold you close and I can’t have you near
Or let you go or keep you here
And I can’t change a thing
And I can’t change your mind
Or save the day, or go back in time.

-where we are, Billy the Kid.


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