Beauty Seen is Never Lost

These small, few certainties had built a fort around me for the past five years. That soft scent of stale cigarettes and aggressively-washed carpets, which could only be my house; the strange precision in which my name is called, each syllable at a time ,shadowed with a tone of finality; and that sense of selective solitude I’ve created despite it all.
There’s that thick drape I’ve drawn right in front of me; one that walks miles before I do,
Behind it, I’m that girl who stood on the 18th of July, under the rain,
in a country that never knew my initials, nor the weight of the constantly-alternating contradictions I’ve held inside. I’m that girl, that one lone girl, standing, with a soaked Pizza box, a torn plastic bag bearing vintage-covered classics, awaiting the arrival of a transportation bus. I’m that girl, right there, with nothing behind that frail shoulder of mine but strangers slightly urging me back and forth, a pale intensity to every entity I’ve known, a lightness of being.
Behind it, I’m that girl who construct pinnacles of lonesome midnights, a clock of wistful 11’s upturned, and yet no wishes see the peak of light. I’m that girl who listens to tracks of angst and tragic ends, on instruments that’d dissolve under my touch, their transparency, an obstruction to any reason or logic I’ve held dear.
There’s pain.
And an irretraceable ache,
And a fall from a once-cushioned grace.
And an open-ended question : "Why?"

Posted by Diddlina at 2:31 PM