You walk in the room and my stomach drops

falling for what feels like minutes 

twisting and turning in the air

till it lands with a large thump, all knotted and stretched.

Everytime.

My pupils dart across my eyes like metronomes as I try not to stare.

As the party dances around the house, I try to etch closer. 

I will myself to speak, I will myself to blend in. So I drink, hoping the the heat of the golden liquid will burn and break away the edges of the rock lodged in my throat. 

 

Here is my chance, this is it, the brass band starts to play as I take a step closer. 

The spotlight hits my face, this is my moment I say to myself, this is it. 

 

Steps away from you, this is it, I am going to do it. 

 

A river of blonde hair walks in the room, it washes over her perfectly white cotton dress. Her wheat coloured skin radiates warmth, she looks perfect, innocent, untouched. 

Your eyes turn first, followed by the rest of your body, as you dart towards. Your open arms are soon wrapped around her, she is enveloped in you. 

Where I want to be. 

 

The party continues to bounce around our two scenes. 

You're stage left, showered in your angels light. 

I am stage right, stuck to the spot like a crumbling statue. I can't tear myself away, I just stand there and let the pain burn each individual nerve. 

Working it's way up to my dying heart. 

 

The spotlight on stage left goes out. 

You must have left.

I don't leave I find solace in the rough hands of a stranger and leave in the morning. 

Slightly more torn and spoilt round the edges.