It's too early to be awake but to late to go to sleep so I write.
The only art I ever knew to create is just at my finger tips now in the dark.
Silence
The low buzz of a fan or a slight rustle from a child in sleep fill the silence. I like this because I've never been good at silence.
Silence is that gap in your throat when you know you should have done more
Silence is impulsive clicks of the pen to maybe get you to turn around in class.
Silence is my words now days.
I am numb with the silence.
My silence is a lie brought out of fear and unhappiness. Raised up by regret and misery. It's alive,
But barely.
It's three in the morning. A text sends saying words I know aren't what I wanted to say. I wanted to say more.
I wanted,
I wanted to be able to say what I felt, at three in the morning because it's what I don't stop feeling even through the silence I still feel it. And I want you to know that it's okay
And I want you to know that I'm not okay
And I want you to know,
I want you to know things that you might already know so what's the point?
It's three in the morning and I write in the dark with red puffy eyes. I regret to say I couldn't stand to write this or even ever read this to you.
It's three o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep. And I'm missing you.
Good night. Sweet dreams. I...
