I read what you leave in public spaces. The songs you reference. The quotes you quote. I know it’s about me. I can feel you thinking of me. I want to tell you that I know and admit that I feel the same. But I can’t. Not yet.
But Sunday, Sunday knows she’s the end. But she closes her eyes, and she pretends with all the strength in her tiny heart that really, she’s the dawn.
And you asked why people always expected you to smile in photographs. And I told you it was because they hoped that in the future, there would be something to smile about.
You cannot go back in time, even if you wish it with every fiber of your being, your heart and soul, even if you think about it every day. Trust me. I know.
I know you have feelings left somewhere. But they’re all so hard to reach.
Don’t talk to me like you know me. Talk to me like you love me.
You were a dream. Then a reality. Now a memory.
You wake up with a list of all the people you’d rather be. But you’re already on everyone else’s list.
I was wondering if you had a second. To talk about anything at all.
He gave me that night back and this time, I told you the truth. We talked and held each other till the sun came up. And as I went to hell, the devil asked me if it was worth it. I said yes. Yes it was.
Perhaps. Perhaps that’s why you drink wine and take drugs. Because you want to kill the question.
Let’s make lists of all the things that make us smile and tick them off, one at a time. The world will carry on without you and me when we’re gone. Let it carry on without us, today.
For I may fall and I may fail but I will stand again each time and you will find no satisfaction. Because you cannot kill me here.
But people change. People aren’t pictures. And you can either take a new picture or throw the old one away.
Monday’s obviously a bastard, quite literally.
All persons entering a heart do so at their own risk. Management can and will be held responsible for any loss, love, theft, ambition or personal injury. Please take care of your belongings. Please take care of the way you look at me. No roller skating, kissing, smoking, fingers through hair, 3 am phone calls, stained letters, littering, unfeeling feelings, a smell left on a pillow, doors slammed, lyrics whispered, or loitering. Thank you.
If you must know, this is what I’m scared of. I’m scared that everyone else is more who they are than I am who I am.
Forget about your lists and do what you can because that’s all you can do. Phone up the people you miss and tell them you love them. Hug those close to you as hard as you can. Because you are always only a drunk driver’s stupidity, a nervous shopkeeper’s mistake, a doctor’s best attempt and an old age away from forever.
But home is a time. Not just a place.
Never stop and never settle but settle down for the one who lets you draw cities on their skin with the tips of your fingers.