on fire.

i didn’t mind being cold 

when we were cold together.

but now that i’m cold alone

i think i’d rather 

be on fire.

t.w.

think of me.

the sad thing is

i still care about

what you think of me

after you showed me

you never do.

t.w.

your world.

what else is there to do but

sing and cry,

to feel the weight of

every good and beautiful thing

that has graced your sight.

what more is there to do

than experience your world

truly,

fully,

deeply.

t.w.

wasted.

i never liked the idea of

saying love has died.

i don’t think it’s possible

to take back what’s been given.

—

am i able to unkiss your lips

and untouch your skin?

—

if so show me how.

i don’t believe that love can die

but i know full-well

it can be wasted.

t.w.

naive.

and maybe i was naive in that moment

to be caught up in something i didn’t know.

but i’d rather fall too hard

than not at all.

t.w.

easy to forget.

now i wouldn’t say

i drink to get drunk,

but when i think of you

it’s easier to forget

how many i’ve had.

t.w.

don't say.

you don’t get to say you’re lonely

after throwing me out the way you did.

you don’t get to say you’re lonely

after what you did to me.

don’t say you’re lonely

when what i offered you was nothing short of love.

t.w.

meat market.

it feels like a meat market;

you cut off a slab and sell it

for someone to tenderize you,

to be enjoyed for only a

short while.

—

to sever a part of yourself

for someone’s

ephemeral pleasure.

—

what a high cost.

to kill a part of you

for someone to feed

themself for only a day.

t.w.

here & now.

all of a sudden he realized there’s nothing more to life

than what’s in front of him at this very moment.

and that’s all life is; a collection of here and nows.

t.w.

epitome.

he hurries as the sun starts to rise.

minute by minute the light in the trees shifts, as if to tell a different version of the same story.

for a split second, the one where he raises the viewfinder to his eye, everything feels as it should;

caught up in the moment, the epitome of his deepest desire.

t.w.

strangers.

how unnatural it is to give your entire being to

someone to one day be no more than strangers.

to one day grow so distant that it feels as if the

intimacy was never there to begin with.

to be so enthralled with the idea of being in love

that you never stopped to wonder if that’s what

you actually had.

t.w.

return.

there was something about that place. something ineffable, yet cripplingly real,

fueling his yearning for the day he could return.

over the years he’s fashioned it into his utopia, more imagination than reality.

it’s somewhere he can never return to, now a place in his mind, no longer on a map.

t.w.

silence.

it’s the silence that scares him most.

the moments between moments —

where nothing is expected —

nothing required.

afraid of what his heart might tell him

if he gave it the chance to speak.

t.w.

pining.

a ghost of a memory —

a shallow recollection i used to know —

a vague impression, incessantly pining.

t.w.