He doesn’t think it possible for his entire world to break and remake itself within the span of an hour, but after a few heated confessions, here he stands — not new, but feeling very much like it.
Love is a peculiar thing.
He can hardly handle the enormity packed into the word. It’s overwhelming, like a flood of sunshine after a long night; yet it’s small as well, as if the stars have all been fitted into one person to shower them in brilliance.
She whispers his name, and it fills the room from floor to ceiling, drowning him in softness. The dense, unfathomable emptiness that once enveloped him is suddenly pierced by the sound of falling rocks. Loud drums echo in his ears—‘His heart,’ he realizes a second too late.
Beating blood, working muscle, always running off like a flock of startled birds.
I can so easily recall days when we’d run off to steal a few moments to ourselves. When we forgot about the world together. But my emotions have always been intense things. Some more than most can handle. I never thought they’d be too much. In hindsight, I probably should’ve known. I got careless.
My fault. Not yours.
No more alcohol to drown my sorrows. No more food to escape the bitter taste of regret that settles like bile on my tongue. Perhaps… that’s for the best. Because there’s no peace to be found at the bottom of a bottle, and I’ve drowned my senses too long already.
My mind has clouded over, and I’ve forgotten that there’s always solace to be found in wreckage, kindness during ages of uncertainty, and most of all, love, when we feel none at all.
So, it’s enough now.
You keep speaking of the past, as if you were any different then.
Despair doesn’t kill. It just makes life a little more unbearable.
Actions exist to prove words, not sit in place of them.
He breathed, slow and measured, to test how the world felt now that the storm had gone to reveal a world kissed by the sun. It broke gold and glorious over the horizon.
A kind reminder of how peace could so easily triumph over restlessness.
I don’t have much to offer,
Even less to give,
But if you’ll allow me the privilege of your thoughts,
Then these bandages I so often carry,
May help mend your soul.
I’m getting closer everyday to letting this world win.