The first time you came in you already sounded like somebody leaving. Your heels tapping against the floorboards backwards, a set of fading postcards for hands, a lack of love. Your tears are falling dews on a spring day when everybody else is born again and you just repeatedly kept dying. On your bedroom wall is a cardboard moon with a few stationery paper stars. Next to it, a window that is never opened for any constellation named after a stranger you once held hands with. There was a time you never would have let go, never would have said goodbye. You would clench your fist and spit out all your teeth even if it means losing grip, losing bite, losing you. Until you eventually did lose you. And now, you knock on doors you never meant to enter. And now, you fall for people you never meant to love.
Kharla M. Brillo, You’re all closed up and alone, you keep apologizing for it. (via pouvoires)
