Now we only speak through songs - posted songs on platforms that make them disappear. They disappear before we even fully hear them. They disappear before that one line hits deep in the pit of your (or my) stomach, before that one chord hits us (harder than heroin) in our aching blue veins.
Now we barely see each other for an hour or so a day. That hour was enough until it wasn't anymore - until pressing that number on the elevator made my finger go numb, until pushing the exit bar on the door felt too heavy, until walking away from the waving blue flags felt like a mistake, until I was counting the hours to come back and do it all again in reverse. Until I wanted more, more, more of you.
It all started so easily. You'd burst through the door, usually beside me and if not I would feel you from miles away. Hello, how are you, fine, and you, not as great, why, next, and so on. I would fill your shelves with fresh napkins and glasses - you would watch me and tell me about your day. I would clean your screen and your silverware and find any reason to stay there beside you, the only person in a room full of people. Get out of here, dimples. I don't want to. Then don't.
Later, you searched through my cupboards, not for glasses, but for bottles of pills, reasons to dislike me, little hints to convince you to leave. You never found them. You moved through my space, curly hair wild, eyes a little wilder as you watched me brushing my teeth, standing behind me in the mirror as if we had been doing it that way for years. You sat on my couch, on my beds - you laid back and stared at my ceiling and I watched you from the kitchen. I wondered what you were thinking, laying there, comfortable, smiling a little, knowing you shouldn't be so happy, knowing that you were so happy.
Now we only speak through songs.
izzy806
titsay
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
