{Listening to: “where are you now” — dj poolboi & Fog Lake}
The mirror asks me:
How long has it been?
Since you felt alive
Alive
gilded ground flowing
a soft air that glimmers
Alive
gravity below
(coax me under)
wise planets over
(breathe me up)
I meet its gaze
with soul- soaked eyes
The same things don’t shake me
like they once did
Inspiration late to arrive
(or not here at all, really)
City lights blink and flow
A partygoer’s laugh
But its call is hollow
Why?
Because I wrote this show
Cynical and shallow.
Get Life of Fallon’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Nothing is real (after all)
Sipping and scrolling
Tears don’t even follow
Because I called up the movers
and shipped hope away
(on a dime, he claimed)
I went back to Seattle
I let our life die
Norah Jones
Warm home- cooked nights
Winter photo shoot
Family dinners (so nice)
But I ripped up that picture
Threw in the goddamn towel
Said I couldn’t breathe anymore
I didn’t even know how
Alone now in quiet
(Still drifting)
Bobbing and gasping at sea
But silence screams loudly
I stare at old pictures
of him
the old ghost of me
How long has it been? The mirror whispers again
Am I still living? I haunt its refrain
I know I wasn’t
when I was back there
But if I’m alive now
then I’m wholly unaware
