This is not a fairytale
She could be on the moon. She could be on the moon and there would be no difference. She could be on the moon falling in love with you and not be able to reach you any easier. She could be on the moon floating in space with inadimant object after inadimant object clicking and buzzing in her ear, closing her eyes to escape the presence of needing you for just a moment. She could be on the moon--
You could shatter the moon. You could shatter the moon. You could break it into pieces. You could shatter the moon, and watch the each half eclipse itself. You could shatter the moon and keep a record of her fall. You could shatter the moon and count the seconds until impact, Look up in awe at the body falling from the sky, burning a brilliant silhouette against what's left of the sun that you saw so clearly for so long. You could shatter the moon--
She could land as ashes in your palm. She could land as ashes in your palm, and every particle of her former self would be glad to touch you. She could land as shes in your palm, sink into you. She could land as ashes in your palm, surround herself with you shimmering particles collecting themselves beneath your skin as you close your fingers, covering her, shielding her from the dangers of the wind. She could land in ashes in your palm.
It's early morning. I am facing the window watching the sun rise over the buildings. I can hear echos in the hall of people yawning as they walk past my door. I can see shadows of myself on the carpet, sitting in the shadows of my chair.
I am thinking about you.
I am glancing over my shoulder at the people on TV. I am staring at this screen trying to remember what i wanted to say. I am staring at this screen trying to remember how to word it.
I miss you.
I am wondering if you still care. I am wondering if you ask about me like you used to ask about her. I am wondering if i have even crossed your mind at all, and if i did, did you quickly push the thoughts away? I am wondering just how much you resent me, and why you listen to my songs.
I miss someone else.
I am thinking about her now. I am thinking about her, and i am thinking about you. I hate that i am thinking about you. I hate that you are even a recurring thought. I hate that you are probably reading this and the storing away the information, to ponder later... when you have time to be upset. I hate that you probably won't say anything, do anything. I hate.. that you still need to see it. I hate that you erased yourself and left me with nothing to read. I hate that i am hurt by the fact that you erased yourself and left me with nothing to read. I hate that i wanted to read anything in the first place.
You could shatter the moon. You could shatter the moon. You could break it into pieces. You could shatter the moon, and watch the each half eclipse itself. You could shatter the moon and keep a record of her fall. You could shatter the moon and count the seconds until impact, Look up in awe at the body falling from the sky, burning a brilliant silhouette against what's left of the sun that you saw so clearly for so long. You could shatter the moon--
She could land as ashes in your palm. She could land as ashes in your palm, and every particle of her former self would be glad to touch you. She could land as shes in your palm, sink into you. She could land as ashes in your palm, surround herself with you shimmering particles collecting themselves beneath your skin as you close your fingers, covering her, shielding her from the dangers of the wind. She could land in ashes in your palm.
It's early morning. I am facing the window watching the sun rise over the buildings. I can hear echos in the hall of people yawning as they walk past my door. I can see shadows of myself on the carpet, sitting in the shadows of my chair.
I am thinking about you.
I am glancing over my shoulder at the people on TV. I am staring at this screen trying to remember what i wanted to say. I am staring at this screen trying to remember how to word it.
I miss you.
I am wondering if you still care. I am wondering if you ask about me like you used to ask about her. I am wondering if i have even crossed your mind at all, and if i did, did you quickly push the thoughts away? I am wondering just how much you resent me, and why you listen to my songs.
I miss someone else.
I am thinking about her now. I am thinking about her, and i am thinking about you. I hate that i am thinking about you. I hate that you are even a recurring thought. I hate that you are probably reading this and the storing away the information, to ponder later... when you have time to be upset. I hate that you probably won't say anything, do anything. I hate.. that you still need to see it. I hate that you erased yourself and left me with nothing to read. I hate that i am hurt by the fact that you erased yourself and left me with nothing to read. I hate that i wanted to read anything in the first place.