we lie facing each other avoiding eyes. two like-poles of a magnet. close, but unable to break the barrier. it was never always like this. no, never. but i guess, once you're enveloped in the wrong substance, your charge adjusts to suit it.

you reach out in stiff movements, awkwardly stroking my hair, my cheek, settling uneasily on a hostile shoulder. it was short and sweet, i think. you think the same, i can see it in your dark pupils, when eyes linked for that short second. yet you don't see it in mine, and i don't let you. i don't let you see anything for that matter.

you extract your hand swiftly, shoulder left tingling, and rise from your recumbent position. you sit there, staring blankly at washed out beige paint tracing invisible patterns with your eyes. i watch you.

we remain like that for a while, and after some time my mind starts to wander. i soon grow accustomed to the heat leaking from your body and onto the sheets, and drown in infrangible sleep. i don't remember the dream.

shafts of unpleasant light slash through the nostalgic atmosphere, and pierce through my skin. i open my eyes and squint through the morning glare, early birds twittering their shrill, nonchalant song. the sheets are sticky with valediction, and your lingering smell stinks of cynicism, seeping through woven fabric. aside from that, you left nothing else behind.

i washed the sheets that day.

--

a/n; to a certain someone. i don't care anymore, or i'm trying not to anyway. marilyn manson - speed of pain