Six Words Short

My imagination is a sick animal. It gives pain where it is not present. But somehow this pain demands to be felt. How do I know if i'm alive? Is this painful breath a sign of living? Is this sharp stab in the chest a picture of life? Gosh, strange things really do happen when sleep doesn't.

I don't know who I am anymore. Sometimes I pretend you love me, and at that point among all times, I would give out all the love I don't own.

It's fine. Maybe next time it will hurt less.

I lied. I will never be fine.

Last Words

This is the last word you heard before she walked away. You held your breath, closed your eyes, heart hoping to wake up beside her.

That was the last word you told him when you walked away. You said it out loud. Your voice was strong but your heart was shattering. Silently hoping his presence was a dream.

Those were words, those were emotions.

These turned into memories.