Hollow contentment dripping from fingertips,
Swirled pads that haven’t gripped a pen in ages
Steadily moving across lines,
The nub carving black ink across memories that refuse to fade
Thickening silhouettes and crosshatching shades of emotions
As he runs stained hands through his hair,
Tugging at the roots
As if shaking the strands will dislodge his troublesome thoughts
And jumpstart his brain into activity
Mustering up the energy to lift the edges of lips and the corners of eyes
When he’d rather curl into himself
Half life
Missions discarded
Can’t quite temper the doubt and fears enough to alleviate
The embarassment locked deep within
That flushes out the cold fear of being alone
Far be it from him to control his thoughts and actions
He's aware he's lost control
But however much he attempts to run away,
We’ll have time to soak in sun soaked dust motes without a care
To meet at some obscure cafe
Despite being locked away in different wings of the same crumbling house,
Isolated in our dreams.