That’s Not A Good Sign

Nothing compares with you. I can’t rekindle the old when you are everpresent in my mind, like a sweet aroma I can’t erase from my memory. You are nothing in particular but a flame that was extinguished before it truly got a chance to cast its beam across the walls in lengthwise shadows. And he is nothing more than a tattered blanket I haven’t the heart to throw away.

Oh, my heart. It is grieving for the lost things I have so desired. It is withered under penetrating stares that yield nothing more than your disappointment, and inevitable abandonment. It is hard to stifle the quivering of my heart beneath foreign fingertips that used to be so well-loved. It’s like the dark mask of a broken day, and I am hiding behind it.

Hiding.

Amanda