July 1, 2013
A bunk. Cold, isolated, lonely. I sit here heartbroken over what once was. What was once mine. Her. My sister— no, my twin. My own flesh and blood. She was mine. She caressed another woman's fingers with her own, her wife's, leaving lingering kisses to her cheeks and soft lips, constantly brushing shoulders with her. I sat here alone, listened to them screw in the next room, hearing their groans. They were too frequently together, but I saw the love in her eyes when she looked at me. Into my eyes. The honey-coloured orbs through which I saw the world... Through which I saw her.
We'd promised that we'd be forever together, lives entangled, souls embracing. What might have been haunts my empty house of a soul. The windows may be cracked and the floors may creak but it is still standing. I'm haunted by her, however, who left her handprints all over the walls— all over my heart— as she passed through. While I try so hard to maintain the exterior, she looks at another girl like she used to look at me. A new one. That's the girl she chose. As I pour out the depths of my soul onto this paper and into my old songs, she ultimately wins her.
She was mine and now I'm left with nothing. My own girlfriend does not ease the ache I feel in my stomach when I think of her. As we fuck on the hard mattress, my mind wanders to her. She has another to hold when she cries, another to pull the tangles out of her messy hair in the morning. Don't dream too far back into the past. Don't remember that rush of joy as we kissed, and the comfort as we parted. She has the one she has been waiting for forever. I'm not that girl.
