You ask me why I have a scar on my right arm and I want to tell you about the time I almost escaped from the suffering.
In another universe, I might not not have it. But then again, in another universe, we would've been sipping wine on the couch and I wouldn't have had to make myself appear dead for you to love me.
I want to tell you why I don't believe in love anymore. In another universe, I would've. But then again in another universe I wouldn't have to carry the weight of this boy's ghost with me. Maybe I would've told you how the ghosts of some people are heavier than the actual versions of them.
I want to tell you how the second-hand smoke from the cigarette you've been holding on for so long is the only thing that feels like home but again maybe in another universe you would've already known.
