Still waiting

Wake up.

Just wake up and come back, would you? I can hear you, when I’m sleeping. I can hear you when I dream. I can almost taste you, the kisses that weren’t ever ours. You’re not far, but it’s world away while I lie here, remembering things out of order. She had starry eyes and she told me that it would always be this hard. That no matter what it would always be this hard.

There would be good, and there would be bad, but it would be hard, and I had to pick — I had to pick now.

I thought if I brought the building down around us, I thought I’d be able to escape. I thought I’d be able to get free from the monsters that came in and took away everything we loved.

I don’t want it to be hard. I don’t want it to always be hard.

I didn’t ask for this.

Why won’t anyone listen when I try to explain that I didn’t ask for this?

They listen,but they talk back, and their responses have no sympathy, only scorn: none of us asked for this. But some of us are grateful, and some of us are whining, puling children. Some of us know what to do, because we care to think about it, about something other than ourselves.

Some of us are just selfish.

So now I’m waiting on you, and any second, I’m sure I’m going to drown, so please hurry.

Wake up.


About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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