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.
To see you angry hurts,
but to see you tongue-tied,
fumbling for an explanation you don’t know how to give,
and stuttering your way through
with broken words and brittle convictions
is decidedly worse.
During the early hours of dawn, when I wait for my memories to come out and play, I realized that some ghosts could be summoned. I like to think that it was my desire to avoid them that caused me to reach for your shoulders, scrambling for purchase long gone, searching for warmth in a place I’ve already been told I have no home, but that would be a lie.
I know my reasons best.
I’ve always been a simple person—and defeat has never tasted so good than against your lips.