HOW WILL WE REACH

a

in which my imaginary friend screams in my head:

it frustrates you that you can never describe green, or a sunset, in just the way that you want to. it frustrates you that you can never put the complexity of your mind into words.

it frustrates you that you can never describe heartbreak, even with poetry, and your friends will think you're just overreacting and he broke your heart over a glass screen without ever knowing he had your heart in the first place but in truth its deeper than an ocean and it hurts so much more than a childish obsession. it frustrates you that you can never capture moments and memories with your writing, ever ever ever evereverevereverever

and oh! in the end you are just a tormented artist, ripping your incompleted masterpieces into shreds but can't you see? (can't you see? can't you see?) you can never achieve perfection and your heart is 10 dimensional, so even if you put it in a blender and poured the juice into a cup no one can ever comprehend its complexity. so suck it up and enjoy your own poetry because it's the only thing that'll keep you sane, because words are the best way of expression ever to be found by humanity.

meanwhile, let's keep the language of emotions and ideas untouched because they are too beautiful to be translated.