Status: Comments would be really appreciated, as I'm beginning to write this again for the first time in weeks. I hope I've improved even just slightly, because that's what I've been aiming for. Thank you for reading!
Imprinted Years
Entertain
Entertain:
We live and we laugh all for our own or other’s entertainment.
I’ve figured that out…
“Life is a show.” I mutter half-heartedly.
Meaning the words.
However, not meaning to be enthusiastic.
Life is no laughing matter.
Not in my world.
Or in my head.
“Abre, what do you mean?” Every word he pronounces carefully, as if, once again, he’s afraid of me.
Afraid of what I can turn into.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean?” He shouts persistently and suddenly, I find that I am afraid of him. I look into his eyes.
All I see is angst.
I’ve broken him.
I’ve broken us.
I’ve broken what used to be true love.
“When we were children…” He pauses to clear his throat and bid the growing angst within away, “Our love was true. We were children. I know that, but you never lied to me.”
He sighs pathetically, as if he’s truly given up on both us and me.
“You never put on this pretence, Abre.”
Guilt builds.
“But now…”
I can’t stop it.
“You’ve let this fucking pretence become your life!”
Benedict grasps onto my arms, in a desperate attempt to shake me out of this pit of lonely, yet selfish despair.
It doesn’t work.
It’s irreparable.
It’s uncontrollable.
And I am irreplaceable.
I will never return if I die.
But if I leave, I’ll never know what it is to be human again.
And I don’t know if I can survive that way.
Not now.
Never again…
We live and we laugh all for our own or other’s entertainment.
I’ve figured that out…
“Life is a show.” I mutter half-heartedly.
Meaning the words.
However, not meaning to be enthusiastic.
Life is no laughing matter.
Not in my world.
Or in my head.
“Abre, what do you mean?” Every word he pronounces carefully, as if, once again, he’s afraid of me.
Afraid of what I can turn into.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean?” He shouts persistently and suddenly, I find that I am afraid of him. I look into his eyes.
All I see is angst.
I’ve broken him.
I’ve broken us.
I’ve broken what used to be true love.
“When we were children…” He pauses to clear his throat and bid the growing angst within away, “Our love was true. We were children. I know that, but you never lied to me.”
He sighs pathetically, as if he’s truly given up on both us and me.
“You never put on this pretence, Abre.”
Guilt builds.
“But now…”
I can’t stop it.
“You’ve let this fucking pretence become your life!”
Benedict grasps onto my arms, in a desperate attempt to shake me out of this pit of lonely, yet selfish despair.
It doesn’t work.
It’s irreparable.
It’s uncontrollable.
And I am irreplaceable.
I will never return if I die.
But if I leave, I’ll never know what it is to be human again.
And I don’t know if I can survive that way.
Not now.
Never again…