• Gabrielle Archambault


He sits there with a flicker of sadness behind his eyes, it dances like fireworks on a bad day. It keeps him from seeing colours. He knows what he's done. He has seen it all. He has heard all the words of comfort. None of them work. They won't bring back the colours. They say time heals, but it's been years since anyone could make his eyes wrinkle. All the disappointed faces lay between him and lavender sleep. Every roads leads him back to the night when everything changed. The night when he stopped looking like himself. The night when the dark wasn't dark enough to hide the truth. He will never be the same and for those who think he is, look closely at his amateur smile and you can see the cracks. Everything is unsure and unsteady. His heart like a stack of cards and his mind like the wind. I want to fix him even if nobody can. I want to hold his hand when he wants to let go. I want to tell him that he can't give up because his life goes on. When he tries his best and fails again and again, I will bring him to the lake to play skipping stones. I want to show him how one thing leads to another if you just make it right. I know him by heart even if his is split in two. One half still beating in his chest, troubled. The other half left on the side of the highway. I want to get close, but he fears that he will break anyone who sees right through him. He always leaves things unsaid because life is too short. There is no time to waste on feelings that you might feel too much. He thinks nobody will understand him when all I do is read his open book. Hang on baby.

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