It might have been months, years or even hours that we'd been hiding away while the world ate itself outside but we were still We and that's all that mattered, we kept telling ourselves. "We're not getting out of here, are we?" you said. It was the one thing we promised not to talk about because keeping our spirits up was all we could do down there.
But you weren't sad, saying that, were you?
At least, not for you, not for us. It was the rest of the world you pitied and we were never quite a part of it. Too used to broken homes and broken bones to fit in like the world told us we were meant to. At least now we were useful, well, we had been until we slipped up.
But that was a chance we were always willing to take.
It was a simple task - go to the old pub and see if there's any food or pure alcohol left.You gave our first aid kit away to a girl whose shambling wreck of a body we saw outside a while back. I hope it helped her once or at least that another survivor found it.
But who would want to survive in this world?
I know we were meant to stay positive, to remind ourselves that we had still lived another day but the days don't feel right any more. Time is making a mockery of our lives and every waking hour is a reminder of the fact that we will never stop struggling to survive.
But that's hardly new for us, is it?
There were too many variables for me to count and they always led to the moment your foot fell through a weak floorboard and sent you toppling down to the cellar. At least your entrance was the only way in and out. It gave us plenty of time to hold each other and hold our breaths whenever the door upstairs opened and the oh-so-familiar sounds of moist shuffling footsteps invaded our tranquility.
But now you aren't breathing right and I can't breathe without you.
We'd been down in the dark basement for so long we didn't even realise what had happened to us until you started dying. Somehow somewhere within the days our embrace fused our skin and we sunk into each other until all we were was a nest of limbs and collapsing lungs.
But at least we're still We, right?
But you weren't sad, saying that, were you?
At least, not for you, not for us. It was the rest of the world you pitied and we were never quite a part of it. Too used to broken homes and broken bones to fit in like the world told us we were meant to. At least now we were useful, well, we had been until we slipped up.
But that was a chance we were always willing to take.
It was a simple task - go to the old pub and see if there's any food or pure alcohol left.You gave our first aid kit away to a girl whose shambling wreck of a body we saw outside a while back. I hope it helped her once or at least that another survivor found it.
But who would want to survive in this world?
I know we were meant to stay positive, to remind ourselves that we had still lived another day but the days don't feel right any more. Time is making a mockery of our lives and every waking hour is a reminder of the fact that we will never stop struggling to survive.
But that's hardly new for us, is it?
There were too many variables for me to count and they always led to the moment your foot fell through a weak floorboard and sent you toppling down to the cellar. At least your entrance was the only way in and out. It gave us plenty of time to hold each other and hold our breaths whenever the door upstairs opened and the oh-so-familiar sounds of moist shuffling footsteps invaded our tranquility.
But now you aren't breathing right and I can't breathe without you.
We'd been down in the dark basement for so long we didn't even realise what had happened to us until you started dying. Somehow somewhere within the days our embrace fused our skin and we sunk into each other until all we were was a nest of limbs and collapsing lungs.
But at least we're still We, right?
No comments:
Post a Comment