Jaumear

You feel drowsy and tired, but you can’t sleep. Thoughts collide inside your head, when and where you screwed it, unforgivable whyes. Echoes of verses you wrote for a muse now dead sound in your ears and you can’t avoid feeling a sharp pain in the chest. You are unable to bring back any good memories, because the grief is so intense that it hardly lets you breath. You want to quit. Nothing works. Everything is grey where she drew a 16 million colours rainbow. You need to cry, but you can’t because exhaustion devours you from deep inside yourself. You want destiny to be kind, but clearly it will not happen this time. You entered this labirinth with no exit by yourself. Wish you had a time machine so you could go back to who you were when being you mattered or at least was worth something. When her hand was there if you reached yours, and the whole universe fitted perfectly, because you had finally put the missing piece of the cosmic puzzle. You take a look around. You are alone. Incomplete. You want to go back. So you demand a second chance to the gods who pushed you to agnosticism, but, as usual, the only answer is the hollow sound of the thunderous void that lives inside you. You don’t want to keep going, but you will. You let yourself be carried away by the flow of madness your life has become. While you keep walking forward, heading nowhere, you have one and only wish, that she asks you to come back. The worst part of it all is that you know she will never do it, because she has forgotten you a long time ago.

The optimistic: life is all joy and love.
The pessimistic: life is too short and full of disappointments.
The cynical: kill me already, please.