Another poem book because I have learned how to write not as shitty poems

The Fall Of The Grand

It wasn't supposed to happen this way: I knew it'd end all along yet still kept fighting and fighting a war that could never be won- or at least feel like it. I always asked myself "For what?" before I met you but in the moment with you it was "Why not?" because I needed to LIVE again. I needed to breathe and it not feel like a painful task or chore. I needed to breathe like I craved it and like being out of breath was because I laughed too hard or just ran hand-in-hand with you, not like I had given up and was lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling thinking about how it felt so nice to be totally still, totally at peace, as if I was ABOVE breathing. As if I had found the contentedness that i always wanted even if it meant inching closer to the characteristics of being dead. Because i loved to teeter on that fine line. I loved being a paradox. Maybe that's why I loved you. 

There's an experiment called Schrödinger's cat. It shows how something can be alive AND dead at the same time to the outside world. Schrodinger had put a cat in a box along with a flask of poison and a radioactive source. If the radioactive source decayed, a hammer would smash the flask of poison and kill the cat and if it didn't decay at all, the cat would live. But you have no way of knowing without opening the box if the cat is dead or alive so to the outside world its BOTH. 

You felt like that paradox to me: being alive and dead at the same time. I think you wanted to show everyone you werent by doing crazy things and going on random adventures but inside you were dead. Your body was alive yet your mind was dead. quite a common paradox that a bit of people go through yet not all try to hide it. You did and no one questioned if maybe, as if your body was the box and your mind was the cat, you were dead on the inside. The box was the only thing proving that the cat was possibly alive, the same in your case, so what about what's on the inside? 

You always wanted to go down in a big, grand gesture. As a hero: you wanted to save people even if you couldn't save yourself. You wanted everyone to think you died because you were selfless and a hero to hide away from the fact that you couldn't STAND this world. 

You thought you held you life in the palm of your hand and that no one could touch it. But if someone just tried to pry your fingers away from your palm, ever so slowly or ever so roughly, they'll be able to get to it and take it. You didn't seem to understand that.

It took a car and a couple drinks to take you out. I bet you hate that ending. The end of our story was caused by someone who couldn't just think for two seconds. There was no CONTROL. The driver had NO control, you had NO control, you had NO say. You didn't want to die, not like that: at the hand of another man. 

It wasn't supposed to end this way: me sitting at your grave, dressed in that emerald green dress you always loved because it matched my eyes perfectly and it reminded you of the ocean that held a prominent place in the life you left behind. You told me it was your escape, that no one could catch you in the water, and that no amount of screaming and bad memories at the water could ever taint your love for it. 

I guess every story has its ending and ours was just one you could never rewrite or erase or forget. I'm sitting here, holding my breath, and the only thing I can think of is: for what?

(This is not based off true events. Just true thoughts.)