Today I was sitting, thinking about how if you ever asked, I’d tell you, you were a mistake. Not the kind of mistake you’d take back, rewind and never repeat, but the kind of mistake that makes you sorry and sick at the same time. The love we knew was rare and I don’t know that it ever existed alone. I never knew that love and sadness could be so indistinguishable till I met you....
Your face makes me sick and your silence makes me guilty. Distance feels like more than miles and mountains, water and wine. We couldn’t make it work when our hours struck in unison or when we shared sheets, and now six hours separate my yesterday and your tomorrow but I lost you before time had any say at all.
I’m sitting on a dark plane surrounded by strangers and remembering how we used to be strangers. The way you spoke was strange and you were never fooled by common advances. You saw straight threw me and I didn’t care. There was never anything urgent about you, I knew you’d be there tomorrow, next month, and the one after that. You were never like the rest, a challenge - sure - but not one worth...
Square peg, round hole. We should have never worked, and we didn’t really. You were a forgotten forest and I didn’t care. I didn’t care that I knew almost nothing about you or that I hated everything that came out of your mouth. You were a picture to me, and the static image was enough. I loved the way you didn’t see me when I was staring at you in the mirror, and the way...