Of all that life can offer, of all that nature has to give, the fog is my greatest friend.
Fog allows me to go blind with wide open eyes, sheltering me from all I want to run away from.
It hugs me tight, comforting me with a false sense of security.
No one has to tell me that the fog will not protect me, but no one else will.
In my fight, I stand alone, no guidance showing me the path I must take.
At least now there is no path, no guidance needed.
All that lies before me is a wall of nothing, shielding me from the images waiting for me outside my window.
There is no sun to remind me of what I'm missing.
No sun to show me warmth I cannot feel, to hurt me with images that trigger memories that I will never get to relive, to taunt me with what I crave yet cannot have.
No moon to tell me of the midnight walks I miss so badly yet have to go on by myself, confronting me with my hunger for company.
No starry skies to show yet another light out of my reach, another shooting star unable to fullfill any of my wishes, another twinkle my eyes lack.
No backs, ever turned towards me, of people whose faces I am starting to forget, of people I need yet cannot reach, for my cries are not heard by those who do not care.
No path to lure me towards a goal it knows I will never reach, towards yet another disappointment to add up to the crushing pile on my chest.
Sometimes darkness is all I want, when the light I seek is driven away by all the screaming headlights pointing at me from every possible direction but the one I try to find.
For in that moment, I am blind.
And as much as I hurt, at least no one can see me.
At least I won't have to ask myself why no one bothers to ask.
They can't ask about what they don't know, they can't worry about what they can't see.
No one will be there to hurt me, no one will be there to disappoint me, nothing will be there to crush me.
Now I can lie down among the shards of my heart and cry until my eyes dry up.
Maybe then I will finally be able to pick up the pieces and join your façade, pretending to be whole again.
And when I inevitably fall apart again, I will welcome the fog with a melancholic smile on my face and with my empty arms open wide.
Come hug me, old friend.
YOU ARE READING
Between summer days and thunderstorms
PoetryThese are poems, it's not a book! These short ones come from the dephts of my heart, and reflect what I go through. Some days are harder than others, as they are for any of us. I use my fantasy to write about it, and numb the pain a bit. I hope you...
