entry 30

All the background music that melodically plays around me dances through the atmosphere; The musical notes sway this way and that with each other and in the process stringing together memories of you. Or maybe just the you I thought I knew at a point.

My mind begins to reminisce about a dream or perhaps a nightmare of you after everything took an unprecedented turn. The insatiable behemoth that is guilt managed to strip away all reason that I stood by in defence of letting you go and brought forth you before a blank, cream-white canvas and in your right hand, you grasp a paintbrush stained at the tips with grazes of an oblivion-like charcoal black. Like clockwork, a delicate and intricate pencil-drawn portrait of me suddenly appears across that once-empty surface. A modest, lip-pressed smile is stretched across my face, so far that it reaches my oval, hazel-coloured eyes that stare off into a non-existent distance.

My captured happiness juxtaposes the anger that flashes across your face and the hate that overwhelms your senses and fills the air around you. In desperation to avoid tearing down the world around you grasp the wood end of the brush tighter and proceed to dip it in the can of bottomless black paint next to you. In a rage, you whip the dripping ends towards the canvas and in its wake, a line streaked with little droplets on either side is left.

Again, with another whip, black teardrops form all over my face with you hoping that black will morph into a crimson red so I could somewhat feel an ounce of the pain I caused you.

Another lash. And another. And another until nothing remains but darkness. Perhaps you do so to cover up whatever else reminds you of me. Be that a song. A story. An endless rant, banter or aimless debate. All contained in a mere drawing now blanketed in black.

I remember jolting awake, drenched in the cold feelings of blame, sadness, regret, and self-hatred. It’s all your fault. You took the easy way out because leaving was easier than staying and losing yourself, yet you have no self to keep. A mantra, like a broken record, repeats itself in a distorted manner, aiming to taunt and mock me. The urge to scream the noise away is shoved away by the weak and pathetic choice to sob into my knees pressed to my chest, hoping there is hope. When sadly, there is none.