We are the wrinkled creases of your bedsheets, the daisy perfume on your pillow. We are the strum of chords on your guitar and the murmur of a lyric; embryonic and unformed. We are the lost earring swept underneath your mattress; the silence of your phone. We are the feeling of space, both vast and suffocating. We hover in your armchair, lean against the pantry doors, We gaze from cobwebbed cornices and sweep down corridors. We are the elongated afternoon shadows on your lawn; the loneliness, absoluteness and terror locked in the deep crevices of your subconscious.
We are everything and nothing, I am dark matter; a love unformed.
I wrote this a while back. I never realized how the pain of each word would reverberate through me as it does today.