I’d love to say you cant have me anymore. But I wasn’t strong enough to take me away the first time. I’m still missing that part of me, almost as much as I miss you.
Hollow bits I forgot to pack up, leaving drops of myself like breadcrumbs to that place I promised Id never go back to. I’ll find my way along that bright red path; shining black in the moonlight, like that rain falling under the greyscale skies that can never wash it away.
Those ashen skies appeared like a movie reel, framing my hemorrhaging- writing my dramas in a script no one would believe the details of, but too perfect to forget.
My life isn’t for me anymore, and it probably never was. Our lives are simple, to find someone else to gift them to. Polish them to a shine until we find someone else strong enough to contain them. Our injuries earned through a life poorly lived; a tapestry no one else can recreate.
But then, why would they want to, when they see how beautiful you have woven it?
Passion is never calm.
Passion is never relaxed.
Mathematics is the language of the universe. But I don’t want to speak to the universe.
Voice is the language of man. But I have nothing to say to people.
Color is the language of emotion. But words paint a picture than any brush.
Why would anyone want to communicate with anyone? To convey selfish needs and requests; speak your own language those who want to learn it, will.