six months later

i stare blankly at the book in front of me,
the pages bare,
a pen in my right hand

write down you thoughts
write about how your day went
just write whatever comes to your mind
my therapist said

according to him it was some sort of way to keep track of my progress

i don't think ive made any

all ive written about is sadness and death and stacy

s t a c y

i look out the ceiling to floor window past the institution's lavish lawn

as if she might show up,

pretend she's only visiting me
and then we'd plot out my escape

no one's there
none of that happens

she's not real
manic depression

paranoid schizophrenia

that's my therapist's diagnosis

for seeing things that aren't there

for making up a dead person
and giving her an entirely different personality

"your brain came up with an entirely different solution to block out the trauma and stress you've been dealing with"
bullshit

how dare he speak of her like that?

this place is lonely, desolate
there's this nagging feeling that bounces off the walls
magnified, reaches you
leaves you hopeless

quite ironic

you're sent here for recovery
and the only thing the place makes you feel is that youre beyond saving
more than you felt before

the staff's too nice
like their kindness is somehow forced for a place like this

days here are spent in routine
there's group therapy in the morning with a bunch of other mentally ill kids

they could almost pass as normal almost

calum and ashton visit every Sunday
michael does twice each month
they're all in college now

dad calls at times
i think he's scared of me to actually pay a visit
(there's a strain in his voice)
that,
or he just doesn't want to add this,me to his grief

i have to take three pills each day
they're supposed to make me feel better,
theyre supposed to fix me
i don't think pills and therapy can sew the stitches of a soul torn and ripped apart

i think i made it pass the point of no return

//

there she is

standing in the middle of the road

with that smile of hers

i hear the engine of a car rushing by
i call out her name and she looks at me
and i jump in front of the gunning machine to save her

the impact causing us to tumble a little farther

i blink my eyes open
she's still there in my arms

she looks up, looking more ethereal than she did before

i grin holding her tighter

"stacy"

"luke"

i shower her with kisses

"baby i'm free"

i feel her peck my cheek

and then she's gone
like she was never there before

i shot up

moonlight bleeding through the open window,
illuminating the shadows in the room
i steadied my breathing

the dream felt so real

she was in it
she was happy

i smiled to myself,
the tears coming in

and i felt the urge to say her name, stacy

say it again and again stacy stacy stacy stacy stacy stacy

in that moment, nothing else mattered

because i saw her again

and now i know that she's out there

she's okay
















this isn't over yet I'll be posting a playlist and it's Sunday ohmy HAPPY BIRTHDAY MICHAEL!!!!!!!!!!

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