Melancholia:

A heavy heart and a foggy mind, blurry eyes and weighed down lungs. In the shower, tears hit the ground with the same force as the dripping water, and your fake love. You stare as the drops hit your palm, expecting some sort of epiphany to reveal itself in the creases of your skin. Finding none, you avert your gaze towards the tiles waiting for some revelation to shout at you. But epiphanies don't come as they do in the stories. They don't appear just as you near rock bottom. They wait until the world beats you to a scintilla of your original self. They wait until you're all but gone. They wait, if they ever come at all, they wait forever.

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this is nowhere near as good and coherent as it was in my head.

Nathaniel.

"You could love me if I knew how to lie," he writes in a note, words hastily scrawled on a piece of ripped out newspaper. His bags packed with his empty closets and his scent lingering a fading farewell. I collapse into the chair, his note shaking in my hands. I see him buying a ticket and boarding a train to the middle of nowhere, where I can't find him. Deserts and sparse shade trees. Mountains in barren wastelands. Despondent countenances and weary eyes.

The note still shaking in my hands, I don't cry. I simply find myself wishing for ignorance.

Nauseous Regrets.

I stepped into the room inhaling the remnants of your fading perfume. I looked for you in the empty corners. I painted your ghost on the cushions. I stood and listened to your silent whispers. I attempted to siphon your words from the memory of the wood, the space in a thought. I drew your gestures in the nonexistent breeze. Swift flutters of dust outline your memory. Half empty teacups and unsettled pillows scream of your presence. I held your breath close to my ear. The rising and falling cadences of your voice played notes across my skin. Your empty smile, your hollow eyes, I closed my eyes and saw you there, clear as my fingers before me. I waited. Fearing that you would appear, hoping that these memories would be all that I had -I waited.

Amidst the Greenery.

It physically pains me to see the world rushing past me while I stand there frozen. And it's not a fear, knees buckling induced type of inaction, it's just that I can't. I'm glued. I'm stuck. I've stared into the eyes of truth and it's turned me to stone. My fingers are haunted with the memory of movement, the sensation of blood flowing through their veins. My arms recall the excitement of goosebumps. My hardened heart tries to remember what it felt like to beat, what it felt like to quicken with anticipation, with fear. My eyes recall tears, my mouth craves moisture, my tongue longs for a taste of salt. The kisses of wind are wasted on my numb body, the whispers of trees fall on blind ears. Laughter fractures my stone, painting jealousy in its everlasting cracks. I try to smile, but the corners of my lips split and break until I'm left with nothing more than a wretched scowl. And there it is, my stone edifice, my testament to my wasted loyalty. There stands my failure. There stands my lost hopes and dreams. There stands everything I would have fallen for.

Rayne I

Wrapped in her towel, she lays on her back on the floor. Shoulders back and head high, she places her hands on her stomach and closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath as she allows the thoughts to shroud her, evaporating all worry with the glistening drops of water. She hears a knock at the door, "Come in," she calls through closed eyes.Lucas walks in, "Oh, sorry," he hastily apologizes turning around to exit the room.
"No, no," she tilts her head to look up at his frame behind her, "come join me," she grins invitingly. He reluctantly closes the door and lays down beside her, adjusting his body to mirror hers. Closing his eyes, he asks, "What are we looking at?"
"The stars," she replies wistfully, her eyes still closed.
"What about them?" he asks again as he begins to picture them.
"Everything," she sighs.

Soft Surrender.

"I can't do it!" she yells desperately, "I can't! Don't make me do this!" she begs curling into the fetal position on his bed as her tears engulf her, as her body shakes with their intensity. Her body awaiting the touch of his comfort hoping for some remorse, some understanding, some rationality to be begotten from her words. Surprised with her own sincerity and passion, she allows the waves to flow through her, her eyes shielded from the sight around her.

"Get out," he mutters in surrender. But his words fall on deaf ears, they land in disbelief: that someone so close, so dear could look upon her broken frame and utter those words. "Get out of my room," he repeats as she hears the opening of a door. She opens her eyes to see him disappeared into another location. She stalks angry, hurt, and hopeless out of the room as she collapses onto her bed and cries herself into a numb sleep. As she surrenders to that bitter refuge she's tried so desperately to refrain from. As she breaks after bending in resistance for so long.