Down and out.

Kaleidoscopes change, hearts break, seasons change.
Click once, click away colours, oranges turns to greens, purples to blues, just so many colours..too many emotions. To click once, will click those colours away, you'll never see me again.

It's this time of year again, the time where batteries run out of energy, and bulbs begin to fade, the spiders climb back into the cold dark corners and capture the flies that once flew through the open windows.

One fleeting afternoon, I somehow forget to tick, no longer a kaleidoscope I stay in my pyjamas, sit on the kitchen floor running my finger across his face. He is framed, under a slab of glass, untouchable, somehow, gone? I look up and suddenly I'm sitting on this park bench, where it was HIM who cried, not me, but HIM. He cried, held his head in his hands, and it was me who patted him patronisingly on the knee like the bitch I was, 'you know it could never work anymore, you do know that?' i whispered into his ear as i shushed him and his weeping. Who wants to hear their lover's cries..and yet I'm still here sitting on the bench where no-one is in the park.

Walk past me, look at me like I'm strange for not branching out my umbrella, like the rain is soaking into my already loose skin, like losing your mind makes you lose some pounds. It's his heart which I walked over, once ran past to avoid the rain, it's his feelings I clicked like a kaleidoscope, too distracted by the colours, besotted by the light of change.

Today i stopped ticking, I looked back at my colours, marked on my skins like water colour dyeing damp paper. Plagued with sudden great desires to hold my head in my hands, how the hell did you cry in front of me, and why the hell did I not weep with you. I was so in love with you, I let you go and told you 'I'll be fine' and I so bloody was. Until now, this time round, all I feel is nostalgia, this time last year. This time last year, I was with you, thinking 'this time next year I'll be free, I'll be far away from this bloody bench, this park where we laid down, this whole bloody town'. Time is not my healer, not even a friend, he is a stranger who has just unplugged the chain I held onto my emotions, the hands I held on my heart, I dyed my hair brown and I all I want is blonde back, your "cherry blonde".

With all my strength I lift myself from the bench and walk across the green, Jose Gonzalez promising to "cast some light, that I'll be alright", and all I feel is sick. Do kaleidoscopes ever stop clicking, like people stop ticking, do reptiles stop shedding skin, like humans stop changing. Why did I look at the kaleidoscope instead of looking through it to see the moment i, ME, would sit at our bloody bench and cry like I'd never cried over you before.