“I hope the memory’s killin you over there”
Last month I stood silent in the middle of an arcade on a foreign land.
I felt a strange void in my chest,
I was reminded of the way I felt when I realised you were leading me to our grave.
I was blinded to the joy from the bulbs that lit the entire street,
Deafened to the bliss of the laughs that seemed too genuine for me to believe.
I played a song on my headphones.
As I heard the way too familiar words we used to listen to together,
I allowed the remaining breath from my lungs escape as a rueful laugh.
I let the heaviness of the void carry me home,
Away from the blithe streets that remind me a little too much of you.
Just like everything else did.
Last week I chased shadows along the corners of the mall hoping to bump into you somehow.
I had to curb the reflexes that wanted to call you and narrate the tales of my blatantly uneventful day.
My playlist succumbed to a handful since I couldn’t listen to the ones that reminded me of you anymore.
I threw away the pictures we had taken on our secret hiding floor.
I sat quietly on my way home, with the windows down, begging the undulating wind to wash away the memories of you.
Because I hate the feeling of missing you, so sure that you’ll never feel that way too.
Knowing that I could cry just thinking of you.
Last night I awoke with a jolt, unsurprised that I had another dream starring you.
With eyes barely open and mind barely scratching the surface of my conscious, all I could think about was the stress of your birthday coming soon.
I couldn’t bring myself to wish you the same way I’ve done for the past 5 years,
But just so you know, I didn’t forget it.
Happy Birthday Cowboy.
I mean it.
“I know we’ve gone our different ways, but do you miss me the same?”