My eyes wander around the room. They revolve around the furniture, the walls and myself. As I try to define my presence among them I keep my eyes wide open to mark my spot. Yet, I see nothing. They don’t exist. I turn my head away. I force myself to get out of this bubble. This illusion that has fixated on my eyes. They are not real. It couldn’t be possible for then to carry on being since you’re gone.

Stubbornly I try to escape this figment of imagination. The light is playing tricks on my me. Out of here is where I belong. Back to where we belong. Back to the start with you. Back to when the world sang alongside our hearts as we found melody needed inorder to start again with every ‘good morning’  you whispered as the two of us wrapped ourselves  in one another’s arms like ribbon and fellsoftly back to sleep. Wondering if I’m stuck in the middle, I’m terrified to face this might be the end. I mistake those noises in my head for true knowledge. I’m tentatively trying to see if I can patch things upwith myself and allow a true conversation between us.  But we don’t have much to say.

We know the truth. Your truth.

As we repeatedly realise what we already know, I’m speculating of all the possible conversations that would make you whisk my illusion as a balloon. A red, swollen up balloon, free-falling dusty out of the sky.

However, I only conclude with two words: ‘Come back to me’. I whisper, utter, scream, cry, pronounce and spell them but my reality still remains a mimicry of life. My hopes and prayers have ridiculed me in front of an air hole. The circumstances we ask God to change are eventually the ones that God uses to change us. I’ve become different. I’ve made a slow and throbbing transition to us. And that is where I want to get back. And that is where I want to get you back.

So, help me. Help me down this floating kite I’ve made my bed on. I want to ground myself in the tops of your feet and walk in your fieriness again. There’s something internally appeasing in knowing I can source heat from your body when I’m hovering in thw wintry, inimical air and land on our bed. That’s enough to beat illusion. That’s enough to hang onto. Hold on tight from a slight portion of life. The real one that was verified by your absence. I try to grasp, in the invisible gaseous substance that surrounds the earth, every thought you made, every action you proved, every word you meant, and make something out of my bubbling void. So, you have to return. Words will return with you, God’s hearing will return with you, my side in bed will return with you, life that has escaped from reality will return with you.

I’m not sure if I believe in those things, though.

I do however believe in you.

Author: Pepi Naki

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