Sometimes..

Sometimes I think of that one time in life when I was really in love with you. Actually, to say it was once would be a disservice to the beautiful thing living inside my skull. It was a cyclical love. It is a cyclical love. To which there is no known remedy. One that fades and intensifies like the leaves on trees and tides in the ocean.
Sometimes I wish you knew that the life I lead and the words I bled are in your name. Even though we don’t know each other anymore. But I know if our paths crossed in a crowded airport terminal or lonely freeway rest stop, that we would walk on. To you I would be a passerby with sullen seascape eyes. To me, you would be a yellow bird escaping from its cage. A cage that holds my lungs and heart. The silent parts, you know the ones that birds love?Sometimes I wonder if I am someone’s yellow bird, and then I hope it isn’t so because I couldn’t break another person the way you broke me.
Sometimes I long to inject you in my veins again. To feel the bastardized euphoria and diluted reality and hold onto you. Planning weekend getaways with you, breakfast nestled in towns not listed on maps. You could play with my hair and I could count your eyelashes. We would tell each other things we’ve never told anyone else and we wouldn’t have to explain. We would just understand each other. Even if it was just one lazy afternoon raveled in sheets watching the rain fall on the window pane. We wouldn’t even have to talk we could just be and that would be alright.
Sometimes I think this all seems psychotic. But I think psychosis is nothing more than feeling. A little more deeply than the average human. And if that’s what it is, I think that would be okay. Am I being clear, or just tying words together without making sense lol? So let’s check out. Let’s paint the world with our conjoined psychosis. Let’s get away before the flame goes out because it’s only a matter of time. And maybe that’s why I’m writing this down. When I am an elderly woman, recalling my life, I will have no tangible evidence of your existence. Except these few simple words that catalyze a fleeting passage through my young head. I will remember you and I will hope that you never had regrets and I’d like to think that I’d even smile a little. Contemplating the idea of some purgatory for lost loves waiting to escape our imprisoned minds.