The Price of Comfort

The Price of Comfort

old-mug

An empty cup of tea is sat on my desk
with a week old tea bag I should have thrown out,
And I know I should just rinse it out,
Make a new cup of tea,
But just looking at the cup makes me feel sad
and I know I wouldn’t drink it anyways.

When I’m lying in bed I think of a different life,
One where I’m boarding trains and trading luggage for spontaneity,
And sometimes I’m sleeping on a bench but there’s a smile on my face.

That girl in my dreams might not be me
but she’s the girl I want to see in the mirror,
An alter ego of myself stripped of my fear,
my vanity, my insecurity, my inability to let things go;

A girl who smiles at the world and doesn’t fear strangers,
Someone who can spin stories about the future
and is naive enough to believe every single one of them.

I wonder what happened to that girl because I feel her heart in my chest,
Beating too fast like it wants to get out,
Out of this cage,
Out of the stagnant monotony of the life I’ve settled for.

I think she’s too innocent to understand this,
Too charmed by life, convinced every breath she breathes is magic,
Looking for love but running away when it gets too close,
Laughing all the while because she’s happy all the same.

I traded that child-like wonder for kisses
that taste more like vodka than cranberry juice,
For a false kind of love that I didn’t want
but carried around regardless,
Letting myself turn empty car parks and early morning tea
into the magic I didn’t believe in anymore.

And yet with all that said and done, I still don’t understand this now,
I feel flickers of her soul
when I see one lone star in a city full of lights,
Telling me that if it can shine through
the blanket of artificial lights,
Then so can the girl I’ve buried deep inside,
the girl I once was,
The girl that refuses to die in this room
with an empty cup of tea on her desk and the taste of vodka on her tongue.

Because that’s not who she is. That’s not who I am.
And maybe it’s naive, maybe it’s too disgustingly innocent,
to believe in myself more than I believe in other people,
But I’d rather sleep on a park bench with a smile on my face
than dream in the bed meant for the person I can’t be.

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