You’re gone for good this time. I see your shape, but I don’t hear your voice. I put bones on the floor, I sketch around the skeleton, I try to fill in the organs, the flesh, the blood, but still, there, tethered by loss, solid stone in years, paints un-retouched lose their lustre, you fade, you become bloodless, you let vein empty, you die.

Without heartbreak is the biggest heartbreak to feel, that you no longer do feel, that the drowning lady you see before you is no longer, but has washed her hair thin, so the memory becomes a fragmented jewel.

I know you’re gone for good.


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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