(no subject)
i was once accused of writing too vertically, and, to me, that meant you will never be a poet.
and i never pretended to be. i only knew that i loved you, and i needed to tell someone about it. and that everything else, save writing for you, was a waste of my days, and the person i pretended to be while doing these other things was not a person at all, but a ghost, acting and acting out to dull the pains of missing you.
the things i could never record, nights i failed and lost memory of
cradle me now, as i begin to take deeper breaths
and let my past bleed into our tomorrow
and i never pretended to be. i only knew that i loved you, and i needed to tell someone about it. and that everything else, save writing for you, was a waste of my days, and the person i pretended to be while doing these other things was not a person at all, but a ghost, acting and acting out to dull the pains of missing you.
the things i could never record, nights i failed and lost memory of
cradle me now, as i begin to take deeper breaths
and let my past bleed into our tomorrow