Life, non-refundable, time, non-recyclable

You're just sitting there, staring at the wall. You've been sitting there, in your hospital gown, like forever. I'm sitting in front of you. I can't see you properly, my eyes are bleeding. Bleeding out the memories of a time when you were different. (Grab hold of some kind of fixation point, think it away, make it unreal. No, no, I'm not a satellite, am i dreaming? I need you, you're my soul, my past and my future, my child and my mother, you're my first love.)

And the rage, oh dear, it's not directed towards you (please anger keep inside). My body's getting smaller, my eyes seek yours, but your gaze is dead, somewhere else than in this cold white room.

So I leave. And when I'm biking home to hours, days and months of peaceul oblivion, my eyes are filled with dark blood, my heart with salty water. I forget you, I must. You also forget, you're prevented from remembering.

I think of your laughter sometimes, but as the years pass by it turns into a silent shout. (I heard you're sitting in your room again.)