Heartache & Healing Hands

And here I am, standing in the middle of my aching heart. All is red & sore. It just might start bleeding soon & I may drown in it. Ahh it might not be such a bad thing.

I look up to the walls; pictures of you plastered here & there: oh, here's one of you laughing. There's one of us looking at each other, and another where I was looking at you while you were deep in concentration. Was it Maths you were concentrating on? I guess. I could never bring myself to let you know how good you look when you're cramming your pretty little head with formulas.

Taking a few steps deeper, I see words written on the walls. Some of the words were opaque-ish; it'll disappear soon. How sad. Some were carved into it. Words that you had told me once; words that I had hung from even when things never seem to go my way. Hah, words. A friend once told me that people can buy me with words. I disagreed then but I guess. . .

Into the distance, there was an area devoid of words or pictures. It was clean & waiting. I sighed.


If I could find a souvenir, just to prove my love was here, here it is; a red balloon. I think of you.
I let it go.