(no subject)
when the sound of laughter rivals the amount of stuttered silence, the unspeakable comfort of glass meeting skin, to kiss the hand that's stolen breath, interchangeable movements while watching a life collapse, and you speak as though words hold meaning, a meaning in which truth can be found, i've yet to witness truth stumble from those lips, catch myself drowning in past situations, the realization that i'm defined by what you made me be, a mere whisper to incorporate a lifetime of conversation, i find myself struggling to reach closure, the air so much more thin as i begin to fall, to dance upon the grave we've dug ourselves, and pray, pray to pretend this means something, time has come and time will cease, this moment, a mere disease.