A Song For You

I haven’t felt like myself for a couple of months now. How can someone light a fire inside of you just for them to decide they don’t want to sit next to you anymore to feel the warmth? Now, the fire’s bled everywhere and has burnt everything around me, engulfing me with it. All they had to do was watch it to just tend to it. To make sure the wind didn’t sweep the flames into the grass. All that is left now are piles of cold ash scattered everywhere.

I’ve been asking myself lately whether I am being dramatic for feeling this way. But I can’t listen to happy love songs anymore. I don’t feel like doing my hair or going out or anything other than just sitting here in the corner of my couch. I’m telling myself to feel it. Feel the ash between my fingers and pat them down in the ground so that something else can grow in spite. Maybe the grass will be stronger now. Maybe the flames will be more self-contained. I could place tall rocks around the fire so that only I could feel the warmth, and it would be controlled. I digress.