Because in reality, things will hurt like a bitch, but there are potentially worse things if life, and despite moving past it, it stays with us forever, just in a small part of our minds.
Have you ever wondered how you made it out alive in the middle of a tornado? Have you ever felt so excited for something, you could feel the anxiety bursting through your fingertips, itching for that day to come when you could hear his voice for the very first time. But little do you know, that day never came. It never showed. The sun never rose to make the roses rise. And you're wondering, how the hell am I still alive?
Well I'll tell you how you're still alive. Open your damn eyes, put your hand over your chest, and tell yourself what you feel. The heat over your skin flowing like a bottomless waterfall, aching to reach an end somewhere. Feel the pacing of your heart as it walks back and forth in an empty room, caged, not knowing what to tell your brain, to tell your lungs, to tell your soul. Feel your chest inflate and deflate like a popped balloon; there's no point in refilling something that's already broken. But don't throw your life away just because you're no use.
You're silly string, yet you don't know what's funny. The fact that him falling asleep would be more reasonable than talking to you because he sleeps to forget that you exist in his life, or you missed what he drew on your forehead, loser. You need him to need you like the way you need a tablet to fall asleep as well. Staring blankly at the wall wondering, how am I still alive?
Look at all those bruises you made in a single painting. How ironic because they look exactly like the ones on your skin. Count them like stars and I swear you'll see something, a message from the man that told you that he loved you till his death and after. Turn those bruises into stories that are memorized on the tip of your tongue, pressing into a postage stamp and sent away to be forgotten. But you can't forget it you see?
