16 caméléon

the railway always reminded me of how people come and go. this time, anxiety flew off my mind. it brought excitement. it brought me one step closer to an end— the ending of our starvation.

if i would've known what was coming for me, i would've done it at least 22 times a day, no doubt. i could swim and break through the crippling affliction of my brain, and i'd still be unpleased. everything unpleased me in such a pleasing way. for years, life used its charms on me.

i don't think i'm unhappy. i'm simply tormented by the way you decided to impel your mindset over my existence. you ripped off a part of the summary.

                            you left.

the trees, the grass— the garden of my thoughts: everything that was dear to me died under my subconcious. the trees dropped their knees in defeat, as i was sighing in your absence. no one owned me but my very own thoughts. that's when i got off the train. i heard my own steps louder than before. my friend had to abstain me from contemplating, but i've been imagining it from the bottom to the top of my lungs: you getting off the train, us hearing your own steps louder than ever before, you fixing your gaze whenever you decided it was the right time for you to uncuff your eyes.

i got off the train. i took a moment to appreciate what kept on touching me. the cold breeze of december was caressing my cheek. it reminded me that the reality was already given to me. my senses had failed to replace the unfairness of the moment that i didn't ask for.

the sky was trembling in her eyes. it felt like it was so far from mine, yet our eyes were sizzling together, waving into one another. the sky of her eyes silently fell under my touch. the tears were frozen in time, and there was no escape. in my mind, the prison became both the release and the relapse.

   she took the matter in her own hands. the matter became a sudden infatuation of unspoken thoughts and shapes. i had stepped on a foreign land.

   my guess is that she will never let me turn foreign into familiar, her eye into my own eye, and, eventually, her skin against my skin into our skin.

it would endlessly torment her pride.