Escape Artists

I balance myself high up on a wire that i spun over the life that I just recently figured was full of fear. Desperately trying to hold onto the little breaths i keep inside my lungs while i took a stroll into the night everyone told me to become a part of.

Me?

Well, I am made of about 6 litres of blood, some bones, flesh and a brain, that keeps fighting with this heart that‘s still beating too fast for all the wrong reasons. My daily dosis of anti-depressants is high enough to keep my self-loathing in a cage, but too low to let me put a straight smile up on my face. My past keeps revisiting my thoughts, so my future becomes an unstable construct of high hopes and even higher falls. I am 50 percent self-proclaimed fear, 30 percent a „helpful friend“ and the rest of the time i keep telling myself that i‘m not good enough for anything or anyone.

But i‘m not alone in this, we are am army of escape artists in this world, yet we remain silent so no one blows our covers. We are black sheep, overseen by society, we keep our doors closed and our porcelain hearts locked in our chests. So even if you get to take a glimpse at it, it‘s just a matter of time until you realize that knowing us is a mistake.

Because we’re trapped inside this mindset that keeps us from staying somewhere for too long. So give us love and affections and we tell cupid to shut up and stop wasting his arrows on something we are not ready for, never were, and probably never will. We put on armors of past mistakes as if we need reasons to hide ourselves.

We compose thank you letters to past relationships in our nicest handwriting, thanking you for the time spent, for the countless hours you were just standing there, watching us fall apart – almost sacrificing the wholeness of our hearts. With golden and meaningful messages that read like loveletters from opur greatest fears. We would write that we tried to hold our little breaths, but we couldn’t – we were choking. There was no music, no talking, there was nothing to breathe anymore. And just now i remember all these moments where there was nothing but my voice and you. And i scarcely remember the outline of your head, your face has become blurry and i can’t quite make out what your voice sounded like.

But then my phone rang – it was you – and then i remembered, because your breathing is easily distinguishable from all the other noises these ears have ever heard, as i used to listen to it for way too many silent hours where we didn‘t speak a word. Just this call, where I grasped the few words i wish i would have heard of you.

„I miss you, please don‘t leave me, promise you won‘t leave me.“

But you never said them, so i never heard them. And then i woke up – not from a dream. No – i woke up from reality – but i couldn‘t cry for the sake of it. If there was ever a tear coming out of these eyes, i will dedicate them to you. They will carry your name. For as I am going to remember each and every minute we spent. Each one of them in vain.

And yes, I would‘ve said that I really really do miss you, too. I miss the feeling of being around you, i miss each and every broken thought that rooted in any of your words. And I miss feeling exchangable, i miss that i cared too much, i even miss being the fucked up wreck i was.Because after you, i just wasn‘t able to miss anything anymore.

But even if we would meet again: I know, I just know, know know that i would giggle like the little boy i always was when our eyes met. I‘d stutter in the tiniest of notes, in my most fragile tones, like you‘re the vacuum that sucks any confidence that left out of me. And i wonder if this ever ends, and i bend myself backwards thinking i don‘t think about you that much anymore. And I tell myself that i don‘t need you, i don‘t need you, don‘t need you, need you, need you.

But I do need you. I need you to tell me that there was never anything worth fighting for. I need you to tell me that it’s not my fault and that I actually was good enough THIS time. But most importantyl I need you to get a grip and finally leave me alone.

Because i may be an escape artist, i’m probably pretty good at being that. But i failed escaping you.

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