We donāt know how to spell the gaps in between the silences but we know that the only thing that can fill them is silence itself. Our arms are tattooed with maps of highways that have only one way to go until the body collapses and becomes the abandoned train station, left to the dogs. Tell me, when did we start thinking like this? There are stars inside these bones but they are long dead, and they did not die for us. We donāt remember the first day. Heck, we donāt remember how to write a poem, but we rip our hearts out to stand a chance in becoming one. Tell me, when did we start thinking like this? It wasnāt enough that we scraped our knees, was it? We had to crash through the canopy like the wingless birds that we were just to see that there is nothing beautiful about suffering. We should have known. I should have known. Please tell me, when did we start thinking like this?
N.L., Map (via toborrowtime)
