nightly ritual/the price of ungoverned sadness
i’m addicted to moonlight sadness, the same way some live and die for cigarettes.
if we are made with stardust,
how come you stare at the stars above like such foreign strangers?
rather than distant cousins
beaming for someone unknown.
the sinking feeling in my chest comes along familiarly each night.
the only emotion i can will myself to feel out of nowhere is this heartache of a midnight.
does life dull around me each day?
how do you measure such a thing anyways?
these writings are the closest i’ll get to the illusive moment of “understanding” i chase so desperately.