By Stella Säfström 2/12-09
Is this beauty? Lying next to you, is that beauty? Choking for breath, wanting you to lay next me, is that beauty as well? Seeing myself in my mirror-image, with tears running down my cheeks, is that beauty too? Why would it be? Come on, really. My tears, my regret my feelings my heartbeats, tripping, going faster and faster, is that really beauty? Is this love beauty? Are my blue eyes beautiful when they are full of remorse, full of hope that I have already lost? Is this beauty? Am I the meaning of beauty to you? Are my bruises beautiful, my empty heart, my fast breathing and my restless sleep, is it all beauty to you?
‘Cause if it’s so fucking beautiful, why aren’t you here?
My room is dark, full of empty memories, memories of a time that has already past. ‘Cause that is what memories are, right? Yes, that is indeed what memories are. And I’m full of them. I’m on my bed, looking straight at my window. Lights flickers in, giving this room a cold glow. No one is awake at this hour. No, for this is not New York, the town that never sleeps. This is village. A dark village, with only a few headlights to show the world it exists. I look at the clock. There are five minutes left until the clock strikes three. Three o’clock in the morning. The sky is as dark as it can be. I’m at ground level and there is no sign of life or movement outside my bedroom window.
I’m all alone tonight. This evening. This day. This week. This year. These early mornings, as all the early mornings. Alone. Always. That is all I can think of. It feels as I’m stuck in time. I’m always sitting here. It’s always five to three o’clock in the morning. I have been here all my life. There is nothing else to see. I am stuck in a world where there is no movement outside of my bedroom window. It’s always Tuesday morning. The time don’t pass for me. The clock ticks. Slowly. Slowly as ever. I sit here, for so long, I can’t feel anything, really. I look out my bedroom window. Waiting for the sun to rise. But it won’t for several hours. ‘Cause it’s midwinter. The snow lies thick outside. The bright light form the headlights makes it shine, more than it should.
It feels as I have been here, sitting on my bed forever. And I still hear nothing. I look at the clock once again. Three o’clock in the morning. Time passes so slowly.
When you have no one to care of.
I’m wearing a t-shirt with some stupid stamp on it. It says “Vote for stupid” or something. I don’t know, I don’t care, it’s not my opinion, it’s my brothers opinion. Well, it’s big, that’s why I put it on in the first place. I like sleeping in big shirts. Although I can not sleep no more. I always wake up around three, two, four in the morning. Here I can be alone, without any questions. There are so many questions, all of the time. People staring at me in school. The school that takes me one hour and forty minutes to get to. I have some friends there. That is good. But I don’t mind them. Don’t care for them.
I’m sorry that I hurt you guys so much, all of the time.
My shirt is grey, I look down at it. The stamp is green. It’s ugly, but it’s soft. Why would I care of what I wear in bed? Who would ever see me? I look at my hair that lies on my chest. It’s dark brown. Very dark indeed. It’s long and I haven’t done anything with it for so long. It’s straight and nothing special. But I like it so much. My hair is my personality. I look out again. No one there. It feels good, I have time breath. Without any questions that needs any false answer. Just myself and my memories. My thoughts. My heart beating slowly. I’m not sad really. I’m not tired, that’s all. I can sleep five, six hours. Then it stops. I get restless. I’m full of restless sleep.
And I can’t feel hunger no more.
