Looking at your face in the dark, you don’t even look that smart. I realized that I never really knew you, I only knew this self-imposed version of you that my mania created. It makes me realize I haven’t truly loved anybody for a very long time.
Doesn’t that make you sad to think about? I don’t even have anything to show for it. I don’t know you, but I don’t know myself, either.
I get this feeling that maybe I don’t belong where I am. I get this feeling that maybe I don’t belong anywhere. What would happen if I disappeared? That’s the logical question to ask. Instead I’m left wondering, how free would it feel, not to have to feel at all?
I’m cooped up with a cup of earl grey tea and the secrets of young girlhood. I’m sitting here wondering how I could leave it all behind. I think about the things I’ve already abandoned, left for dead. It’s not that easy. You don’t get to just opt-out. You don’t get to quit, not when you have so much going for you. Life is wasted on me.
Last night I saw his face sewn into the moonlight. I wonder how I ever could have parted from him.
It excites me to think about it. How something could go so desperately wrong whilst also being so perfect, so poetic, so intangible by written word. It was the little things. It was the little things, like what we shared, which was everything. What’s mine is yours. This grief, this fear, this anger, is yours. Take it back.
I wanted to believe in you. I oftentimes still do.
