shall i make peace with your death? // for if you died, i’d still be here // holding onto a ghost // and if you lived, i’d still be here // holding onto a ghost // and i’ve never liked change // just a synonym for pain // another reason to rewrite the stories inside of my brain // but i’m running out of words // that don’t sound the same // as what i’ve already written // i’d have to let go of myself // just to have something to lose // and i have to let you go // because i have so much to prove // like how i don’t need to hold on // to golden-plated fantasies // i can never reach your pedestal // and up there you can’t even see me // where do you go? // when you’re not being seen // do you exist when i’m not thinking of you? // shall i make peace with your death? // for if i can go a day without thinking of you // does that mean you have died? // am i dead to you // when you’re not thinking of me? // or did i never exist in the first place? // i can see you watching me up there // can you feel me mourning you down here?
- you wouldn’t believe who i wrote this about and luckily i’d never be able to say it out loud (@writingpostmidnight)