I know you're fucked up, but I am too.
And as much as you believe you're far beyond repair... My dear, I'd give all the pure parts left of me just to see that crooked smile of yours etched onto your beautifully scarred face.
Your glacier eyes carve into my soul a little more each time they catch my gaze, and I've never before been so adamant about being pulled apart.
How is it possible that you can suffocate me yet flood my lungs at the same time? And why is it that I continue to crave these psychedelic atrocities?
I can pretend all I want that you have no effect on me, but when I yearn for a pen and paper simply because you cross my mind... I think that notion in itself speaks wonders.
Once I move, I'm sure there will come nights where I weep at the fact that I haven't seen you in ages. I am prepared for the pain; I am prepared for the longing. I am prepared to look in the mirror and see you standing behind me. Even if it is only a figment of my imagination, it will seem all too real, and I'm sure all I'll want to do after the experience is listen to your playlist and drown myself in sorrow.
I am prepared for that.
What I'm not prepared for, is what you'll be doing during all of this.
I am not prepared for your Snapchat stories of bar scenes with exorbitantly attractive women. I am not prepared for when you stop opening my messages because I've grown too annoying for your tastes. I am not prepared for feeling like the smallest person alive because you're back home having fun and I'm just another number in an otherwise anonymous city.
I am not prepared to fall out of this infatuation, just as I was not prepared to fall into it.
YOU ARE READING
random thoughts & scrawls
Ngẫu nhiênthis is simply where i post all of my randomly thought of and scrawled out stories/thoughts/ideas/words in general
