do you understand those three little words tattooed across your heart, there for as long as you could remember?
of course you don’t.
you’ve had the same songs on repeat for weeks on end, you’ve memorized the way the guitar strums sound, your fingers can trace the delicate strands of piano melodies in the air. you’re holding your breath for something, someone, and you have to realize, no, understand, that it’s never going to happen the way you imagine it will. you speak in a language foreign to your ears and try to lose yourself in unfamiliarity, you stumble over your words, and what you don’t understand is that it’s becoming nothing more than routine, days blurring by in the glare of the sun.
you’re gasping for breath but you see, you can’t inhale other people’s exhales.
and it feels like i’m screaming at you, stop asking me questions that i won’t can’t answer, don’t listen to me, is everything being drowned out by the pointless waves of wanting to be significant? let you tell me that nothing matters, tell me that no one is going to miss me, tell me about a dimension that we can’t see, one that we can disappear into. it’s so unoriginal, and it’s the only thing that offers comfort late at night, and this isn’t right, and it’s all you’ve ever known.
they will tell you that there’s been a tragic accident, or that there’s been a misunderstanding, or that it’s bad news. i’ve never been the reassuring type, really, but i can assure you that it will not be tragic, it will certainly not be an accident or a misunderstanding, it will not be bad news. how can you deny someone their only escape when they’re suffocating? it’s only a matter of time, it’s only the question of when, and don’t ask for the reasons—you won’t want to know. they will tell you that they’re sorry, and there is nothing to be sorry about; it’s just the way things are, it’s just the way chemicals work, it’s just the gentle grace of gravity, it’s just the way i’ve always been.
between the lines 