PILOT: How it was meant to be

It’s not like we never knew.
Buried not deep under my skin, but so close to the surface. If you’d scratch me, it would mix with my blood and secretly come spilling out. But I’d quiet you with my mouth and my hands, treacherously, pleading with you to just let go. And you’d come to me and forgive me for my sins and forget about how perfect it used to be.
You said, ‘I don’t care. I can rebuild myself with missing little pieces that you took from me at night. I can pretend and be strong and hate myself for still feeling anything, everything.’ Clenching up, sliding down orange stains - you screamed at me inside your head: ‘I really don’t care, I really don’t care, I really don’t.’
But we knew it was a lie and finally there was no other choice. You said, ‘I will move away and build a castle and throw away every memory. I will not remember, save you from this. There’s just no way you can stop me now.’
So I led myself astray, down a path of broken smiles and empty eyes ablaze, and I’m not sure I can find my way back up. Now you’re gone and I’ve lost every illusion of reality. Memories crawling up staircases and walls, barring themselves behind my bathroom door. I’ve tried to glue them all together, but there’s a gap where you and I used to be. And I keep asking every strange face, slightly askew behind the mirror: how to let go of almost living that dream.