letters to my ex

side effects may vary

dear you ( reader of course),

pov : you're me and by the time you start to write this,
your dad's in the other room claiming that it's time you moved out of this house
and it's a Monday,
and it's hot,
and you're there.

pov : you once read, ‘nothing is too anything’,
and if it wasn't August and if the world wasn't on fire, then you won't be sad. You're not sad, you're just saddened.

one minute goes like this.

pov : you're me and you drive back home way past the mansions and you tap your fingers on elvis when it should have been strumming with billie and mmm-bop.

pov : “let's go home”, your brother says and you evaluate that question as if it's a riddle because to you home is a call for something distinct than this. 

pov : you're me and your body tries to tell you how much it can't stand to tell you what it wants to tell you and the next moment, you think you're a narcissist for thinking about me.

pov : you're me and you're simultaneously exactly where you want to be and don't want to be.

pov : you're me and you accept this even when you know you could have left.

— the way i recycle the same thoughts over and over again. i honestly don't know why i punched those keys, i'm in flux.