Lame traffic earring- part three

I feel bad for you.

But I feel worse for me.

For having to walk away.

To leave you here in this cold, clean place,

bound by a wish you never truly made.

The drop beneath us didn't matter anymore,

because I had already hit the bottom.

The killer smirked, waved a dismissive hand,

turning back to the mirror, to his work,

and I turned my back on both of them.

I couldn't stay in the boundary of a stranger.

I climbed back to the world above,

the one where the real you was really gone.

I would find a way.

I swore I would find a way to make him remember.

I came back to the world above,

the one where the real you was really gone.

The air felt too thin.

Every step I took was heavy,

dragging the weight of a failed promise,

and that awful, hollow laugh that belonged to a killer.

I walked through days that blurred into grey,

my uniform feeling tight around my throat.

Until I didn't.

Until the world twisted, just a little,

and I was standing in front of a door I didn't recognize.

A classroom.

Sunlight, pale and perfect, dusted the room in gold,

and the world stopped turning, just for a moment.

I held my breath.

Because there he was,

sitting at a desk near the window,

the light catching the shine of a cheap, bright earring.

He looked up, a familiar frown on his face,

and I wanted to scream,

but I was drowning in quiet.

He was here.

Again.

But this time, the world around us was silent, and fake,

and I was alone, even with him right there.