2012 / Paper Boats (part III)

 

- elizabeth de cent

——————————

 

this truth is I only burnt one of the boats
guess I was still clinging onto hope
i’m just so sick of being sad though

it took a while to start feeling like myself again
to start getting out of bed
thank fuck for my friends

and we don’t go out as much as we did 
back in in 2012
we were waiting for the world to end 
might as well do it have a drink in your hand

and I’m not being melodramatic when I say we’ve been through hell
life was getting so hard and fast, we were living like maniacs

but we survived, all the drama and broken promises
karma and empty threats
the one promise that he kept

we’re still alive
though god there were times
I hoped I wouldn’t make it, through the night

but I’m glad the world didn’t end with december 2012
I know I’ll never see him again and that’s just as well
cause there’s a boy who wants to make me mixtapes
and a summer we can fill with mistakes
i’ve stopped drinking to forget, don’t wanna be that person anymore

i’ve never been as pretty as last January
before i got sad and cut off all my hair 
and I know it’s not healthy to reach for craft scissors those time I’m can’t see past the despair 

but at least i’m not feeling as numb as I was 
back in 2012
we were waiting for the world to end
seemed kinda dumb to be planning ahead

and I’m not over reacting when I say that it’s been hell
life was getting too hard too fast, we were living like maniacs
it’s for the best you weren’t around for that

but we survived ,this fucked us a life
though at the time, it was a hell of a ride

but I’m glad the world didn’t end with december 2012
I know I’ll never see him again and that’s just as well
cause there’s a boy who wants to make me mixtapes
and a summer we can fill with mistakes
i’ve stopped drinking to forget, don’t wanna be that person anymore

we’re not there yet, we’re on the road
and I know I said I’ve gotta do this alone 
I still believe that but I think that I can stop you getting cold

and I sit here surrounded by the remains of the day and half drunk cups of black coffee

and I reflect:

I have achieved nothing.

Another day lost to the blur of post-alcoholic apathy

and I wonder if this is how it was for you

continually?

 

A perpetual sickness (I associate only with sadness;

but in your case self inflicted),

an inescapable numbness.

I’d like (except no) to take credit for your self-medicating,

but it is much greater than I

ever was to you.

An outside observer, I speculate self-important motives,

(much like in the past when I’d daydream of a life which included me in yours),

but am forced to confess: I never knew you.

 

Still, I dreamt of you last night

I often do.

Sometimes you’re crying,

smiling;

but always

returning.

Which, I suppose, implies I am waiting,

for something -

for you.

 

Your memory hits me black and blue

(your hair/your eyes)

your hand touching mine beneath covers;

never completely lovers,

just a head buried in a neck

for the longest of seconds -

I swear there was eternity on those lips.

 

In the last few weeks he would keep my back to his,

but you never left the lights on.

I wonder if I was ever there with you in those bedrooms.

Or were you picturing another girl

another woman

another life?

 

So then, why did you always come back?

I guess we both wanted to possess the other;

our unhealthy obsession.

Sexual. Tension.

Speaking without thinking of the risks,

our conversations building blisters,

all I ever wanted was to matter

 

to reach out and receive a response.

So many months you were

just

gone.

 

And then one night whilst drinking you tell me you got yourself a pen pal.

You

with all your mystery and mythology and secrets.

And you’re spilling words on strangers?

I assume you must be fucking.

I can hear the apologies catching in your throat.

 

I set fire to the paper boats

you so carefully folded,

hoping to summon you with signals made from the smoke.

 

But I’m left with lukewarm embers.

Fading though.

 

You promised to show me how to make them

before you left this place

and everything behind.

But you never even said goodbye.

You always come back,

but not this time.