How We Say Goodbye

Untitled Part 1

i cant fall in love with you

now you're gone

falling like a star

choose me

Ex's and Oh's

i don't wanna see you with him

bright blue skies

drunk and i miss you

what about us

love me now

its gotta be you

let her go

go your own way

when you were mine

the history of us

yet the feelings curls up in my stomach & doesn't rot: it stays there, afloat

its hard to let go, even when the thing you're holding onto is full of thorns

The thing is, being lonely is like walking in the cold without a coat. It's uncomfortable, but eventually you go numb. Once you get used to not being lonely, though, the shock of going back is like having your down comforter yanked off at six o'clock on a Minnesota December morning.

It was a question I had worn on my lips for days - like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn't resist pulling - despite knowing it could all unravel around me

I love all the fractions of you
The impossible recurrences
Your limited coherence

Of trying to fit a square peg in a round hole

I wish I understood the formula
So I could predict the outcome
But there are too many variables

I must be floating somewhere in the fourth dimension.
I feel like I'm a formula in quantum mechanics:
Complex and misunderstood...
But if you know my concept well enough
I can be broken down into numbers and logarithms

In math they tell us that there are infinite numbers already between 1 and 2. There's 0.1 0.2 0.3 and so on. Don't you get it? You and I will never collide if you're number 1 and I'm 2, because in those gaps the numbers just continue to go in between us. i guess what im trying to say is, no matter how close we are, there will always be distance between us.

My relationship with you is one long equation, constantly adding or subtracting how much I think you care about me.

Excuse me sir, I don't
mean to interrupt but these sums
are smothering me and I
can't sleep because I've got formulas
in my head
and my stomach is a logarithmic problem
I can't solve.
Excuse me sir, but Pythagoras has
declared himself king of my
lungs and I can't breathe
can't breathe
and my hands are complementary angles
that don't add up to
90 degrees.
Excuse me sir, I'm eager to learn
it's
just
that I think I'm going
to pass out -
x has crept down my throat in escape
and I can't factor out my teeth
to isolate it
(where did the algorithm go?)
and I think that the inverse has wrapped
it's curve
around my neck.
Excuse me sir...
Sir?

He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close to his chest. My nose touches his collarbone. He holds me so tight I think he might break me, too.