And when everyone is gone, I sit down to cut you out of your photographs and paste it next to mine. I have made a whole album now, it works better than those sleeping pills.
I met a girl next door yesterday. She was broken. In bed, she moaned like a cry in agony and ended up hurting herself. She showed me the instruments in her wooden shelf, collected, so that men can hurt her every night. Only because her pain cannot be shared, so she gave them a reason behind her screams. None of those were for me. According to her I am emotionally withdrawn and not in the state of mind to harm her. I was her mirror.
Why is it like this? Why I cannot scream even when my inner self is burdened by my existence? But OK, things are better than before. I want to sleep today and I will, without that album, not because you are out of my head, but because for first time in so many years someone shared my silence.
K