Dearest,
Recently there’s been nothing poetic about my life. Nothing I’ve seen to lace with words. So I don’t really have anything to tell you today.
Are you still a songbird? I remember how you loved music. You sang and sang until your heart bled out. I was hoping one day, my words would be the lyrics to your song. I’m still waiting for that to happen.
But you left.
Memories of you still linger in my thoughts. My dear, I even saw you in my dreams. In my dreams you were close to me, although somehow you still felt distant.
I can’t remember if you smiled in my dreams.
I’m happier at night than day. At night I can sleep. Sleeping means dreaming, dreaming of you. It’s sad that I can’t hold your hand or talk to you, but being in your presence is bliss. Even if you’re not really there. So these days I sleep many hours. Because maybe, the longer I sleep, the longer my dreams will be, and the longer time I will get to spend with you. I don’t know quite yet, if this is true. Still I always find myself looking forward to bedtime.
Real life is tiring. People expect too much of me, and I still hate myself. Somehow I still do.
I’m sorry.
My days are a mess. I wish I could stay in bed all the time. I’m confused all day and I’m either restless or drowsy. If I could melt into the ground and disappear I would, any second. I feel nausea even though all I’m doing is sitting here with a pen.
It hurts everywhere.
I told you I have nothing to say, but I ended up writing so much. I couldn’t help it. I guess it doesn’t matter though, because you’ll never read this anyway.
discoholicmusic
janainaart
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
snowghoul
