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.
I’d rather live with the answer than die with the question.
Forget the air, I’ll breathe you instead.
Being gifted doesn’t mean you’ve been given something. It means, you have something to give.
You are the best parts of all the songs I love.
No matter how you stack me. No matter how you arrange me. No matter how you look at me. I am still here and i am still the same person made of the same things. I regret nothing.
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.