CrimsonElegy

Old people says, when a soul dies, it'll soar up the sky and set in the constellation as a bright, shining star. I thought it's a big fat bullshit, until I catch myself staring at the sky at night from the blurry windowpane in my bedroom, searching for your trace. Grief should have its expire date. I'm sick of waking up with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained pillow. Or the way my chest aches every time I peek inside the kitchen, wishing you were here, holding a spatula in one hand and a frying pan on another, complaining about my all-meat-no-vegetable nutritional regime. Every so often, I felt urge to buy those crappy hair products you used ju

The slow rhythm of that old crappy song playing in the radio is mocking me. Mocking my throbbing heart which nearly breaks my ribcages. I can feel it, feel it shrink and almost exploded in milliseconds, its thumping sounds deafening me. Thump. Thump. Thump. Shit. With my frozen fingers I reach my chest, grasping the soft fabric of the suit you borrow me that night. I can feel it. My heart. Can you feel it too? Say, say something. But you stay silent. Your eyes busy staring trough the thick-glassed window, probably watching the pattern of light from the streetlamps we pass. It’s only the flicker of gold and green dancing on your irises