I don’t believe myself when I say that I hate you.
I don’t.
I didn’t believe you when you said that you were leaving.
You left.

The fault is drawn so clearly upon my back.
(I have no say in your life anymore)
I lie down on the grass and breathe;
I am alive.
I am alone.
I am here.

The moment makes me glad I came,
To this party of one;
With the depressing music,
And illicit liquor;
I’m glad I came.

Loneliness isn’t characterised by just being alone.
It’s characterised by your acceptance of that fact;
And your attitude of content toward it.

Solitary till you find your moon,
(What if that never came?)
Would then you become another ghost among the guests at this party?
Would then I realise what it meant to have you around?
Alas! with your leaving and my entrance, a whole lot has been upset,
My mind for one and your soul, another.

The moment makes me glad I came,
To this party of one;
With the hard bodies,
And neon rooms;
I’m glad I came.

Laying down on the tarmac, waiting for the E to kick,
I search the blotted sky for traces of you;
Your smiling eyes in the dismal stars,
Your wavy hair in the vapour trails,
Your mouth in entropy,
Your hands in oblivion.

I didn’t believe you when you said that you were leaving;
But, you left.
And here I’ll stay,
At this party of one,
With the white noise,
And the reminiscence of a recent past.