saturday, january tenth, two thousand fifteen

• • •

when he climbed
the rickety old stairs,
and picked a seat
other than the couch
that sat melancholy
at the front of the room,
he felt his eyes being drawn
to the old sofa anyway.

• • •

she wasn't there.

• • •

the hours passed.
one,
two,
three.

• • •

she wasn't there.

• • •

he had told himself
not to get close,
and this was the
exact reason why.

• • •

there was an aching pang
throbbing in his chest,
one that he hadn't felt
in a long time.
not since the girl
he had adored years past,
shattered his heart
and ripped it in two.
not since she left him,
for being the way he was:
uncertain,
anxious,
afraid.

• • •

it wasn't his fault;
he never chose to be born
with an imbalance of chemicals
in his brain,
that made him think and think,
about every little thing.

• • •

it wasn't his fault now,
that he started to grow feelings
for a girl he barely talked with,
but a girl whom he felt
connected to.
he distanced himself,
he realized with a jolt.
because he was afraid now.

• • •

he was afraid because he saw
himself in her;
the same cautious tint in her eyes,
the hesitation in her smile.
they were both scared.
and while their reasons might have
been different,
the core of it all
was that they weren't afraid
of each other,
they were afraid of themselves.

• • •

he made a mistake.
he needed her.
she was one of the only
good things,
along with music,
that kept him sane.

• • •

another realization.

• • •

the past couple of weeks,
were the most that he
felt happy.
his heart ached harder.
he thought back to how he
felt that day
when his first love
told him,
"I can't love someone
who's broken."

• • •

why did this hurt worse?

• • •

he blew out a sigh,
packing his things slowly,
and gave one more look
at their couch.

• • •

she wasn't there.

• • • • • • • • •

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-Isa