The Crack on the Wall

The crack on the wall has been staring back at me for the past week. I wonder if it’s found the coffee stains under my eyes funny, or if it’s disgusted by the rotting smell of my spirit. I don’t exactly know, but I do know it hasn’t stopped staring at me, not even when I pinned myself against the front wall and yelled telling it to stop. I guess it’s gotten a like for staring at me. I don’t know how long it’s been here, or if it has always been, but now I cannot stop seeing it, as it cannot stop seeing me.

The crack on the wall only likes me, I’ve brought my dad into the room to look at it, but he says there’s nothing there. I guess it doesn’t like to be seen by other people, and only likes to be seen by me. I’ve been telling it I cannot spend all my days in here, but the crack on the wall doesn’t listen to me, it closes the door, pulls down the blinds and prepares the covers for me to lay down.

The crack on the wall is angry at me, I told someone about it and now it doesn’t want to show itself anymore. I guess it wanted it to be our secret, but I couldn’t keep it anymore. I miss it a little, the crack on the wall, I’d grown accustomed to our little talks, to going to sleep with it staring, then waking up with its stare still on me. I miss it, even though I know I shouldn’t.

The crack on the wall came back. I didn’t even notice it at first, but when I did, it said it’d missed me so much that it didn’t want to let me go. It kept me in my room for so long I lost count, taking naps together and eating the leftovers from two days ago that still remained in my desk. We’re friends again, and it promised it won’t leave me again.

The crack on the wall is so big that everywhere I look it’s there. The crack on the wall has become scarier as time passes,  and has brought friends with it that keep me awake no matter how tired I am. The crack on the wall is mean and I don’t want to look at it anymore, but no matter how hard I try to ignore it, it won’t go away. It won’t let me go.

I guess I can’t get rid of the crack on the wall anymore. The sweet words it used to whisper turned into the screeching sound of nails on a chalkboard. The crack on the wall can’t go as it pleases anymore. Not now that it’s laced itself with my eyes, my heart, and my soul.

I asked the crack on the wall why it came in the first place. The crack on the wall told me that I looked so damn lonely, that it decided to keep me company at least for a lifetime.

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