paper heart diaries ♦ clover

[Cait]

a v a l o n
sage

(i.)

peeling paint
falls
like snowflakes.

flakes
flakes of paint
scattered across the concrete floors
of a basement life.

this room is bare.

we count the blessings
(things to be grateful for)
upon our fingers
pretending our losses don’t outnumber our possessions.
even when the proof comes to us
in multiples of five.

a window
where the fires outside
burn.

they don’t reach the corners.
the corners make me feel safer
but i don’t like that.

we’re hiding from our fears
the very things that engulf us
and there’s nobody to ask help from when

i cannot help her

and she cannot help me.

and so
we burn.



(ii.)

autumn came last night.
i heard the leaves of change dance across the pavement
like the letters stored at the back of our cupboard
that rustle each time we retreat to their parchment memories.
we fell asleep together
as brother, as sister,
listening
to an untouched world beyond our shared window
that we’re granted the liberty of exploring
two hours a day.

autumn
is a gentle season.
one that doesn’t steal quite so prominently
from me
like winter yearns to
so it was disappointment that greeted me
this morning

an empty bed
and it’s her
staring out a window
with the bleeding cold puncturing a pressed hand against a glass pane
and it’s her
moving
(we’re ghosts)
the faint sliding of a wardrobe shutting.

disappearing.

sights and
feelings and
sounds
i’ve grown too accustomed to
and we can’t do a thing to stop the seasons,
staunch the flow of time,
rest in limbo, if only for a day.

we’re drowning.

drowning,
and sometimes
when it rains
those are the times we’re not struggling to breathe
when the condensation on our window blurs the universe
(the lines that separate reality and fiction)

sometimes
when it rains
i map the tides.

even then,
we drown.



(iii.)

it’s hard to remember cultivating the fire inside my lungs
because there’s no lasting records of its origin
and the best explanation i can offer is
how it feels like a dragon made its home there.
residing, temporarily.
leaving without warning.
a path of fiery destruction in its wake
and I miss the company she gave me.

she.

her.

i was dead before her
before the nameless face i see each time i feel grass in the gaps between my toes
(not isaline, not today)
and a part of me thinks it is progress
‘moving on’
extinguishing the fire
so i may speak again.

but i’m ablaze.

LEAVE ME ALONE LEAVE ME ALONE LEAVE ME ALONE

words
nobody hears
because they follow all the rules
i never told them to.



(iv.)

LEAVE ME ALONE LEAVE ME ALONE LEAVE ME ALONE

there’s nobody here.



(v.)

she lives out of a cupboard
seven days a week
tugging at strands of hair like the severed strings our hearts were once bound by
and there’s nothing I could say to make her hear me
anymore
even if I still had a heart to speak from.

this morning
it wasn’t autumn we awoke to
but rather, winter.

this morning
it wasn’t a stranger i awoke to
but rather, a sister.

this morning
it wasn’t feigning ignorance i took to
but rather, acknowledgement.

this morning
it wasn’t fear settling in my chest
but rather, disbelief.

she’s beautiful.

we’re ghosts
and my feet don’t make a sound as i move towards her
towards the cupboard
because

we’re ghosts.

we’re floating.

for once, not burning.



(vi.)

notes on my best friend:

she’s the most wonderful person in the world.

she’s got a heart the size of the sun
a universe beneath her ribcage
a soul moulded from the stars.

she makes me smile
(only a little)
makes everything feel brighter
(how different our definitions are)
and for that, i love her
(for that, and so much more)