Sometimes.
Sometimes I pretend the sound of the ticking clocks in my bedroom before I sleep, is the pattering of raindrops on my window sill, so I could fall asleep. So I could visualise you in my mind, with your endearing smile, with our fickle hope and vast dreams. Sometimes I pretend the sticks and stones people throw at me are jokes so that I could laugh, without turning bitter. So that I could smile as if I am taking a step closer to who I truly want to be, to the things I’d like to accomplish. Sometimes I believe the way the blanket touches my skin on a December night is the way you hold my arms close to your chest, keeping me warm, allowing me to close my eyes in a comfort indistinguishable that it sets my lips to twist effortlessly, like being in a realm of wonder and heavenly happenings. Sometimes I imagine my past as a picture to burn, or a story to empower, or both. Sometimes I like it as the tears sting the corner of my eyes, or allow a pride to swell in my chest an...