if you happen to stumble into this corner of the internet —
what you know (i lied when i said i don't remember)
were you real? or did i dream you up?
whatever we were, are, weren't, aren't, could've been, never would've been—should've been a clean hit, a giant wrecking ball through the ribs, a knife in the heart i could pull out.
a summer that never arrived.
sparkles and crescent moons in the night.
the guilt of mistakes that refuses to be put down.
questions i hate asking because every answer is a step closer to goodbye but i ask anyway.
i think one day i'll drop dead in the universe i loved you in and you won't have a clue.
i keep trying to figure out what exactly i'm grieving.
all the times we couldn't time the timing right?
useless information (your W with the unnecessary flourish, entropy, poems about birds and rain) taking up space in my head that you should've taken up on my bed?
or the proof that once, for a little while, another consciousness moved beside mine so naturally that understanding felt less work than breathing?
perhaps grief doesn't really need nouns. perhaps it is capable of surviving perfectly well as a conjunction. and. then and now. love and surrender. presence and absence. this and that. you and me.
i could show you the pills i swallowed even as they melted into my mouth but it won't change a thing. you're still you, and i'm still me, and for that, and that reason alone, there can only be wondering. and never enough of it. corner me. "what even is enough?" and i'll tell you it's:
the glint in my eye when i speak to you.
me on the bathroom floor at 1:17 am, mumbling a hundred sorrys under my breath, hoping at least one reaches you 1800 kilometres away.
wishful thinking because you said i've always been the hopeful side.
books i saved in hopes of disagreeing with you on.
another universe where we don't mess it up.
all the dreams of you that slice me into pieces.
the burden of missing you i'll bear for the privilege of loving you.
admitting that everything that is me has a bit of you.
language is fundamentally inadequate.
nobody understands you better than i do. nobody understands me better than you do. nobody misunderstands us more than we do.
i forget the exact brown of your eyes or how much taller you are than me. i remember your voice telling me something, something, something about pessimism or stutteringly asking me to elaborate my lousy point on kundera.
curiosity is another word for love i suppose.
where do i go now? your mountains are aligned differently from mine. maybe i should have learnt how to navigate gravity, or at least to match my foot with yours but i only ever matched your wit.
do you still not understand i hate our helplessness? i'd rather you yelled at me, perforated my eardrums; i'd rather we didn't share the same horizon if you were to laugh with her over how wrong i got it; i'd rather you held me than live in my skin and bones as i'm crumbling.
we don't get another life. come back before the conversation ends. stay for five more minutes.
amandla
izzy806
gummygunk
stormborns
2087
