Ego

Good morning…seems I have forgotten to brush my hair again, how to exhale or remember what my name sounds like. I feel as though I don’t believe in anything anymore which really means I am handing broken pieces of myself to you.

I can taste the stale paint on my tongue, left there from the last renovating you’ve done with my mind. For the next five hundred and sixty-three and a quarter hours I will be staring at the ceiling. As the second hand of the internal clock moves, I am waiting for your flavor to fade….or maybe I am just waiting for you to return. If you do, I will be older than ever before so please press play. I am exhausted from being stuck on pause.

I remain still, trying to feel the earth move again. I find myself counting my eyelashes so I can calculate the distance it would take for them to fall. Then I will know how many wishes I am missing. Tic toc resonates the sound and maybe in a hundred and thirty-two days I can wish that you never happened. Or I can try to ask if you ever really did love me. Since I like the feel of your name in my mouth, I pray that repeating something is enough to make it true. The real truth is the exact opposite of believing.

I slowly blink and want to be forty-two minutes further into forgetting you. However the images of your lies project against my eye lids and I go backwards into my memories. I listen as you pronounce vowels wrapped into an endless loop where you and I become concentric circles.

The truth is that all I am are my words and those never seem to be enough. Maybe I have wasted the last twenty-nine minutes convincing myself that love and in love are opposing concepts.  Round and round. I say I am not in love but it seems I am a liar. Truth is, so are you. You once told me my heartbeat was your favorite song but broken hearts don’t have a beat.

words can mean the world
or shattering silent sounds
listen for the beat

lies hidden between
truth peeks behind consonants
true love comes from truth

***************************************

Written for Haibun Thinking
This week is freestyle where you can write whatever your heart desires.
Step back from prompts and look inside.
It is more beautiful there.

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