Hiding My Heart Away

I wish I could lay down beside you when the day is done,

And wake up to your face against the morning sun;

But like everything I've ever known,

You'll disappear one day,

So I spend my whole life hiding my heart away.

I Wish I Had Loved You More

Part of me still refuses to believe that you're gone.

I can feel it in the deadening of my emotions, an inherent sadness that has left my heart, but courses and throbs just beneath the skin.

I wish I could just cut it out.

It's taken a lot of work, but I've felt a reminiscence of the truth - a drop of the heart, a chill down the spine.

I wish I felt more.

Last night I had a dream. It was so vivid I still remember it clearly. To be honest, I blame the instinctive nature of our relationship. Innate, habitual, repetitive, fitted. As fitted as the outsides of my soul to the inner tendons and muscles of my arm.

I wish my soul could know you better.

Therein you lie, a ghost of an appendage. I remember having something to tell you. And just as a severed arm is imagined to move, I ran around calling your name.

I wish I knew you'd never answer.

But it takes more than pure determination to bring someone back. It'll take the realm of impossibility and the entire Universe to put you back into your fragile damaged body - for to accomplish such a feat would tear asunder the rigid fabric of our known existence.

I wish I had the power to.

Funnily enough, I was expecting it. Because I needed evidence. I needed to see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears, the silence that encompassed your absence. He didn't have to say anything. No words could describe the deafening presence of a life gone by. And we just stood there. Staring. Contemplating loss. Feeding grief off morose destitute. What was there else to say?

I wish I knew.

On that beautiful sunny afternoon, I ran around calling your name, knowing you would never ever answer again. Knowing that you would never walk through that door, never look me in the eye, never smile, never laugh.

You'll never ask me how was my day, never tell me what kooky thing you bought for dinner.

Never sit there and watch me eat, never keeping me company.

Never

Ever.

I ran and yelled, ran and yelled, ran and yelled.

Ran and yelled, ran and yelled,

Ran and yelled.

I ran and yelled,

But you never yelled back.

I wish I had loved you more

Back to Black

What do you do, when there's nothing left for you; When you realise that all you're grasping at are phantoms of a prime long gone. Auburn photographs ignited by the ghosts of recollection, fuelled by reminiscence, but ultimately reduced to nothing but dust.

Everyone's going home.

I want to go home.

I miss home, I truly do.

But I can't.

I can't allow the idea that when my two years here are finally up, the time I spent in this foreign land will be nothing more than a mere dream, to form and solidify into the bane of my existence.

People have asked me, why don't I go home?

I tell them I am busy with my work; That plane tickets are expensive, that time is not on my side.

Truth is, there is nothing left for me in my home country.

What will face me is the bleakness of my future, the warm lingering of a past that has hurried me by.

I don't want to taint the memories of my childhood and adolescence with my skewed, harsh, disdainful grown-up lenses.

While I'll be welcomed home by my loving and wonderful family, long-lost friends and a plethora of hearty meals, they'll eventually have their life to live, their own future to carve.

And I have mine too.

While staring into the bleak face of uncertainty, it isn't easy to relinquish the possibility of a better life elsewhere.

Better make good use of what we have now.

Better fight hard for what we want now.

Because soon, and I mean very very soon, I may be leaving on a plane.

Back to where I came from.

Back to harsh reality;

Away from the dream.

Back to black.