These parting days always
feel the same. But no, nothing these days feels the same at all. I’ve just been
clinging to figments long ago…when days were longer…when friends were
closer…and when the sunset was purple and pink…cascading over a vast easel.
The golden sunset now, reflected in the heavy eyes, has made them lose their
emerald sparkle. I can almost still feel the harsh winds cutting my face…each
warm knife a testament to youth. Now they’re just biting wrinkles onto my
flesh. Carving thin memories into rugged clay. The moon is foreboding…and it
seems not even fireflies can stir me. Those glory days have faded…tranquility
fused with frailty has vanished…and left a faint white whisper in the night
sky. I can’t seem to reach it anymore. A small freckle on my left hand reminds
me I’m still alive. Blinking. I desperately want to burst through this
flesh…into oblivion…and take the sunset in my palms…let the freckle
devour it. Just let me be free. I don’t even know what I’m letting go
of…because there’s nothing new to grab hold of. What’s the date? I don’t even
know if it matters. I guess the minutes run faster these days. Maybe that’s all
that’s haunting me.

 

You never told me it would
end like this.

 

I wish I were a blade of
grass…slicing through your foot.