Our Life: Part 7


How Can I Go On

 

I’m waiting, wishing,

Sitting in a room of memories,

Seconds slowly pass, time`s pace is cruel.

My mind wanders

Thoughts of her haunting me once again

The ghosts of memory,

I shake

I don’t want these feelings

These thoughts anymore.

My mind tormented constantly.

Why can I not escape?

She has gone,

My mind will not yield

Refusing to let go.

She enters,

I am baffled yet elated

Yet she takes no notice of me,

Am I… a shadow?

A spectre of memory?

She was my forever.

This was the last piece in the Our Life series. I hope you enjoyed them. Here is the full collection in one place. Please feel free to leave a comment if the mood strikes!

Our Life: Part 6


Gone, Where I Cannot Follow

 

A four letter word, can I say it?

It haunts me,

She is always on my mind.

Her

Without I feel empty

Reduced to a phantom,

She gives me heart

A soul, meaning.

I want to tell her with every fibre of me.

Life left to never return

Never again will she hear

The four letter word.

Longing


Artist Jenn Grossman

Artist: Jenn Grossman

Days move slowly, I sit in my chair staring at ‘work’. The dull gray of the day seeps into everything. The screen in front of me illuminates the stagnant space in which I spend hour after hour. I am always waiting. Time is always my enemy.

I wait for love, I wait for happiness, I wait for the next distraction, anything that can take me away from this dull inescapable life.

The wait is always torture, I say to myself ‘only so many days left, only so many hours’ or ‘tomorrow it will be better, next week will be better, next year will be better’. Problems persist and my life goes on, unchanging. ‘Tomorrow will be better’.

I sit here, waiting, the next distraction is only ‘a month, a week, a day’ away. Upon arrival my life will change, the grey will be replaced by vibrance and colour will come back into my world.

Alas, it never does.

I sit here, waiting, once again finding myself staring, this time at paper instead of a glaring screen. Distractions abound and I cannot remember my purpose. My hand moves of its own volition. The pencil dashing across the page, white pristine paper replaced by lines of grey. An image begins to form, my mind awakening from slumber. Excitement sparks through my limbs. I am creating!

The wait is over.