Walking up the stairs,
avoiding all eye contact.
I just want to make it inside
before I break down.
Opening the door,
immediately falling to my knees.
I heave out all of my insecurities one by one,
tearing myself into a million more pieces in the process.
It’s impossible to explain:
that feeling of just wanting to be seen,
to just be heard,
to just be acknowledged,
to just be wanted,
but knowing you’ll only be just an insignificant ghost to them.
I crawl to my bed,
crying so hard that my body permanently cramps into a despondent curl.
I can’t help but raucously moan out my loneliness,
in hopes that the walls between us are proofing out the sound of my dejection.
All I can do is watch these desolate vibrations descend through the floor.
Hoping among all hopes,
that she can’t hear my weeping
every single night.
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