Breathe in, breathe out; this is repetition. I take my time to live considering this is not a life at all. To be alive is not to live, to live is only a temporary state. My life is not precious, it cannot be protected or taken. It will be infinite. I wake up early everyday, I eat, I think, I wait. What do i have to wait for? I don't know, perhaps a spark of hope that things may change in me, maybe it will be different tomorrow. Is it possible that history won't be so repetitious, that we won't fight the same war as the last? I think not, I'm trapped here with a soul full of sorrow. There is no hope for the hopeless. There is no hope for me. I can't change it.
My family never knew, I wouldn't let that happen. I ran away before they could ask, they died before I could explain. The day I saw it in the news-GRUESOME CAR ACCIDENT KILLS MARRIED COUPLE-I didn't break a tear, I knew I had all the time in the world to mope. I never went to the funeral, for i was afraid of the questions the rest of them would ask. How could I have explained my 17 year old body through a 26 year old soul? They'd wonder even more now, I should have died so long ago.
I'm usually thankful for their deaths. That's a dreaded thing to say, I couldn't tell anyone how much I wish I didn't feel that way, but I do. I have a great deal of resentment towards them, all sourced from my childhood. There was never a family member that was ever there for me, not a single one. I was always left alone, with good intentions or bad, and I grew used to it. I watched them die off, one by one. The last to die was a door opening to a new world. This world included a pulley that would lift the weight from my shoulders, so I could fly away from this abstract state. The door was slammed shut when Charlotte leisured in. It was painted over, glued on the edges, then the walls next to it were burned down, taking that door with it.
Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte: the name i repeat on infanence. When I met her-my age 43, hers, 15- a circuit was closed and my world lit up, all emanating from her. I replay the memories: Charlotte, looking up at me smiling, Charlotte, running through the flower feilds, Charlotte, saying goodbye for the first and last time, Charlottoe, Charlotte, Charlotte. There's not a day in my state of being that she doesn't find a way into my mind, or make me wish I could die more than anything ever has. She has left me with a heavy heart, a heart that carries deep, sick love that I've lost in the paralized years I've encountered after her. My hands and eyes burn with twisted, rushed blood that boils up when I think of her-this happens often. I was in love, and I can never love again. She took my life in her hands, and threw it in the opposite direction, I was lost with no way of finding my way back to the wall I faced before Charlotte. I twist and turn through the memory of her back, growing farther and farther, as she leaves for the same reason I stayed. Would I ever see her again? At that time, I had no clue, but now, I know that I could never. For my hatred towards her would get the best of me, and her blood would spill itself onto my vicious hands, which were already doused with masochism. I would kill her, as she did to me.
The wait will always continue. I cannot stick around for my heart to warm up, or my death to freeze off whats left of it. I'm stuck here inside this numb room of walls I have surrounded myself in. They make a maze, if you look from above. A maze that goes on forever, so you probably wouldn't even see it. I walk through it every day, every minute, every second. Just trying to find the exit, with a slice of cheese as a reward.