Distance in a stance I’d rather choose to repeat than lose out on anymore motherfucking sleep. I can’t seem to write it out, but I have reason to let you know and I have far more reason to doubt that all we had once hoped for is seemingly playing out as a little less than the love we had once expressed. It was obvious to be a forgotten thing, in lives far too dismantled to simply be, one, with all we’d come to love; as emptiness provoked the last few remnants of. And I remained further absent from the cause.

But I knew you would see the beauty of,

the broken pieces I left for you to reveal to yourselves

in lifelines crossed and scattered, souls switched and scoured

and you’re probably thinking I’m some sort of coward, but I wanted to express

there seems to have been foul play, rarity in the unfairness found to walk us through another day

and I cant even fucking bring myself to more less breathlessly say,

I love you anyway, k.


One thought on “Motherfucking.

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