Believe me, when I say that I know the sky is blue. It’s just sometimes it looks black. Sometimes, like a drop of ink in water, I see it swirl and become darker, filling each corner, gently caressing the inside of the glass. Sometimes, I tell myself it’s blue, but my eyes fail to see. I don’t care whether the glass is half full or half empty – all that matters is the all encompassing blackness inside, waiting to overflow.
Believe me, when I say I need you. You might not see me for a year, but it doesn’t mean I’m not yearning for companionship, silently screaming your name, hoping you’ll hear me. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. It doesn’t mean goodbye.
Believe me, when I say I can’t explain. It’s not that I don’t want to, but more the words don’t exist. Sometimes I know the shadows are figments, but in that moment, they are monsters under the bed, the stranger behind the curtains, the whispers in the dark. I can find words that will do
but really, there are no synonyms, only an expanse of all the things unsaid.
Believe me when I say I love the sunrise: I may be grouchy until 10am, but seeing the break of dawn brings renewed hope that this too shall pass. My hatred for early rises dissipates when I see the break and the expanse of possibility ahead. Even my darkness cannot fight the dawn.
Believe me, because I’ll only lie once. I’ll tell you I’m fine, when really I am breathing in water, wading through my own thoughts, watching the underside of the surface slipping further away. But this is when you believe me most; where I see you slip away too. Then, I need you to distrust me. I need you to set me free.