I miss the crickets chirping in the back of my mind
in the home we use to know.
Where our only company was;
the body of each other,
the warmth of the sunlight
and the silence from the streets
creeping through our window pane.
Company that gave us stories to forever tell
to a world full of possibilities and potential
that would root itself in my brain,
like ivy, impossible to remove.
I miss the cicadas roaring
outside my second story window
like aggressive waves in the sea.
No matter how alone I was,
they'd be there for me,
loud enough to overpower
every unsound thought come to mind.
Unfortunately the ivy was killed
long ago by a remedy known as reality,
a place full of pesticides,
where my crickets and cicadas
had no chance to survive.
Reality left me;
desolate,
desperate,
downcast,
and knocked down
a notch or two
where my mind says I belong.
"I can't be anything I want to be,"
my mind would tell me that,
I'm delusional for thinking
there's something out there meant for me.
So I guess I'm also delusional
for thinking that I'm exactly
where I'm meant to be.
