Status: something short to keep creative

Poison Oak


Thirty-six days feels like a lifetime, an ocean of breaths taken that I wish I could take back. Thirty-six days since I've seen her, held her, kissed her. I'm back at home now, the same cracked navy blue paint, dirty carpet littered with burn marks, soda stains, the echoes of footprints and dirty clothes. Burning agony blazing across my pale skin and it reminds me of poison oak; the pain of losing her. I'm a ghost, hollow, invisible wisps of air overlooked by the people who should love me the most. I don't even think they realized I was gone. It's almost as if it never happened, meeting her, falling in love, sharing what I thought would amount to endless never ending days burning with sunlight and happiness. I still don't know what happened, why - the question that I'm sure will haunt me for a lifetime. She was crying as she opened the door for me, the door that would close the most memorable part of my life. Her chipped black nail paint, leading up to pale, too-thin forearms, up through the hollow of her throat, tawny, tangled hair and her ocean eyes.

The last thing I remember is her voice, strangled and somehow still beautifully faint, whispering I love you and locking the door. The door to my life, my love, my Sophia.
♠ ♠ ♠
there's two sides to every story