This Old Soul

“I rather push you away now than watch you leave later.”

“I’m never going anywhere,” I told her as I banged on the doors and window panes, begging her to let me back in.

Somewhere in the backroom, headphones blasting, eyes shut, she lay there drowning all else out, drowning in herself.

I broke a window, climbed through, cut my palm, and tried to save her.

But she was right.

A few weeks later, I never saw her again.

I think of her now and then. When I smoke my cigarettes, inhaling all I can. As if I can suck up all the anger in the world and stuff it inside me. As if I could still taste her. As if that burning sensation was the only thing that can save me.

It definitely made me feel better. I can tell you that.

“I rather suffocate than feel.” I remember. That’s what she told me.

I remember not understanding her at the time (even though I pretended I did). I get it now, I guess. I mean, I could understand where she was coming from. Finally. Sadly.

I wish it weren’t here, but I can’t help but cling. It’s the only familiar I know.

And I wanted to scream, “SHUT THE FUCK UP.” But I didn’t.

I just stood there, thinking about some other things. Some important things I can’t really remember right now.

She kept talking. And I just kept on standing there.

It was some Bukowski type shit, but I really can’t remember right now.

Oh well, we’re all dead anyways.