the angel on his shoulder

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1. the angel on his shoulder

It’s cold, and I can’t focus. My mind is wandering back to memories of fading pasts that shouldn’t be emerging. He’s sitting there towards the middle of the room, focusing on his own computer as I type out a paragraph that’s most likely a mistake.

 

 I’m sitting here, knowing, remembering, and slightly missing the history submerged into the air, and the possibilities that choke me as I’m attempting to shift it outside my troubled mind.

 There’s enough wallows of stress to make a grown man cry, let alone a teenage girl who’s not shedding a single tear. Although, thinking of a specific person somehow causes the hot tears to flood down my face and I find myself unable to breathe as the whole world becomes more and more blurry with every hardly acquired breath. 

He doesn’t care, I’ll forever tell myself. He’s a slave to her, and all her half witted demands fueled by jealousy and immense insecurity. 

I pray some days that he will look in my general direction and see the old songs we used to listen to lit up on my laptop, as I mouth the words. For him to hear those tunes and relate them to me one last time. 

But dreams are for those who are weak inside, the ones who do not know what is realistic. 

 

That is why I dream. I dream for the sole reason that nothing feels real to me. All that I touch appears artificial, everywhere I go is a movie I’m always watching.

 I go back and remember the last time things felt real, and I cannot grasp, nor recall that feeling.

 I feel myself slip away slightly day by day, then some days parts come back, and thus get ripped away all over again as if i cannot stop time, space, or fate in it’s unholy grasp upon reality. 

I am at a cross road that is invisible, and I do not know the choices, I do not see the roads, or even if there are choices to be made. 

What is there that I can do. I constantly swerve into the path that makes the smallest of sense, never asking myself why I do not choose the obvious correct pavement to follow. 

We all have changed, but sometimes I wonder if that boy who fell in love with me is still perching on his shoulder throughout everyday, attempting to convince him to change all that he has decided, and cause him to return to me. The little angel on his shoulder that glows every time I’m near.

 

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