in perspective, walls do not breathe, they do not speak, they do not see, they do not think. they do not have a mind of their own and they certainly cannot see me for the way you do. you haven't become a wall, not yet at least. you've grown to be my protecter, not in a way that's physical but you've strengthen my ability to think and see things more vividly. which is ironic because walls are constructed to keep objects hidden, to keep people hidden. so effortlessly, you continue to stand, you continue to hold others up while they so ignorantly tear you down, brick by brick. I admit, I am no saint and I too have ran into the walls of your heart. I left a permanent mark that later became a hole. I can't ask for forgiveness, I can't ask for reassurance, I never did but you gave me those things anyways. you have always known when I was broken, when I was lost, when I returned to old habits, when I was cascaded in tears, when I was left hopeless in the dark to struggle, when I was ready to give my last breath. you have always been my inspiration, you have always been the imaginary shoulder that I use for support. you were no longer the home with four walls, you became home inside two eyes and a heartbeat.
for a best friend.
YOU ARE READING
POETRY BOOK
Poetrythis book of poetry will be written in throughout my darkest nights. In this book, you'll discover poems of the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.
