sometimes i forget about the way it felt jumping off the balcony compared to falling off a roof. you don’t forget; i know this now. bullets seem smooth until you’re bleeding out on the floor of the office you proposed in. i think about it: me, you, the two of us against the rest of the world, etc., etc. i think about the way you say my name.
maybe things could be different, maybe we could be different, and so on. sometimes feelings aren’t enough. sometimes you get off the plane once and it feels like you’re stuck there for the rest of your miserable life. etcetera, etcetera.
can you believe that even after all this time i still feel better just for having met you? the heart of my city beats beneath us, spilled black tea radiating outward like a blessing, or a curse.
