It's quiet. The springs of your old, battered mattress dig into my back. The walls are painted a dull gray, their blandness contrasts your erratic and aggressive spontaneity. In the darkness, the walls are reminiscent of an endless cave. Perhaps, a sanctuary for my thoughts. For the memories of the nights we spent with our bodies and souls intertwined, aligned with the stars. Or at least this is what I lead myself to believe; in truth I was thousands of miles away from you, gazing up into a dark, untouchable sky. Viscous, viscous Capricorn.
The silence is overwhelming; it conjures an inappropriate need to yell at the top of my lungs. I'm a fool. I crave- wait, was that a noise? My piercing blue eyes dart to the door. False alarm. My heart beats desperately in my chest. Perhaps I was wishing to be greeted by your silhouette in the doorway.
I'm a coward. Much too cowardly to adjourn from twisted branches under the wilting rose of our relationship, if I can even call what we share a relationship. I call desperately, to you, to anyone. My limbs bite into jagged thorns; a reminder of your sharp fangs piercing the frail meat of my neck. It's cold. The thin sheet does not protect my shaven legs from the ocean breeze rolling in through the open window. I pull the covers up, but a shiver still runs down my spine. It smells like you. I long to breathe you in once more, to run my fingers through your thick, knotted locks, and up the cartilage that protrudes from your skull. Hair so dirty, it couldn't be put in a casual side braid. What I would do to look into those purple eyes once more.
When will you come back? You've tailored a personal hell for me, decorated in cloth and grime. And after everything we've been through, I've found myself a prisoner to you.