"prove that you're human"

The flat smells burnt again. I wish I was something more, something more than exactly how I was feeling at 24, but I’ve been stuck in a void, a void with you. I wish the flat had actually lit up like parchment against a match and I was just an echo in the flames. I wouldn’t miss anything. But instead it’s just overcooked toast with a morning alarm to rule. I used to wish on dandelions, ripping them from their beds, blowing on them as hard as I could as if the force would make the wish come true. As if the aggression I couldn’t communicate would fly away instead, softly into fuzzy grey skies so I wouldn’t feel so alone or angry anymore. I used to think that getting older would mean I wouldn’t need childish superstitions like dandelion wishes to heal wounds but I all I want is a field to wish in now I’m 31. I am alone in the void, hair permeated with the scent of something charred. Something being self. I don’t know who I am but I know I don’t want to navigate any of this with you anymore, with dead dandelions bearing witness.