I used to fall down and shatter like a wine glass slipping through your fingers when you’ve had one too many.
I’d pile a laundry of all my frustrations in weeks, kicking off my shoes as I curl into bed, muffled screams drowning through my sheets. I’ve lost count of days chugging down one espresso shot after another. Today was a Tuesday, and I can’t believe I simply let myself be with you no longer.
Where do all the sad souls go?
Once, you wrote this on my arm. I’m lost to nowhere at the moment, still searching for a response.
We are fictional lovers on an empty page, trying to swallow the depths of the universe bestowed upon us and fly away into space.
At five am we used to lie awake, my fingers would drum on your chest while you heave a steady rhythm. I would watch the way you’d crinkle your nose, how your hands bury themselves in my hair. Nowadays my mornings consist of you not being there and of me endlessly echoing to myself how this isn’t fair.
That song on the radio that we used to sing together each time it comes on. I barely hear it now.