Loss

On days like this, I often wish you were around. I lounge around on the bed of someone else's, in a state of absolute loss, absolute uncertainty. When I look up at the bland, white ceiling, I see no trace of the memories of my life, only a clean canvas for something beautiful. Yet, as the old monsters from under the bed come back to haunt me, with the dark past, stolen hearts and words of trash, I get scared. It is desperation that drives me to the corner. But then, I notice that the light has gone out, and all around are the rumors of ghosts and ghouls. Tomorrow, they say. Wake up tomorrow, and it'll be another happy day. My mind wills my eyes  shut, but, somehow or the other, the darkness reverberates throughout my inner core. I wait. For eons, I sat and wait as the silence rings in my ears. I had no clock. I knew none of the time. The only thing I knew, was that I felt that a piece of me was missing, lost to the crows that mock my existence. I knew that daybreak wouldn't mend the wounds but merely cover them up. I knew that when daylight shines into the room, it was a signal for me to open my eyes and shut my heart. On days like this, I often wish you were around to hear me breathe, to stop my soul from decaying away, because you are that missing piece. My dear, you don't come from the moon, nor the stars, nor the sun, nor the oxygen that we breathe. You, come from the birds that chirrup happiness into the air. You, come from trees that shelter those who fear the rain. You, come from a myriad of spectacles that life has to offer. Tomorrow, won't be a happy day, but it'll be a day where happiness rings as loud as the bells do. Tomorrow, my canvas will finally be filled with color, and then, your mysterious face will finally shed the light.