24.04.22
00:10
On Sunday, you drive yourself through the long highway. Leaving all your body behind, to begin something new. You scratch off dirts from the sole of your foot. You woke up and rinsed your face. You look at your hands with nothing but sore bones. There is a glance of the past laying there like a welcome mat. You realized you are there, and not everything makes sense. The hands you are holding will let go of you from the fall and the water leaks keep on leaking like forever can mean everything, not something. Like a word or a blink. Forever is not my body, but it is always a curse to love someone. It is a curse for my soul to hold on to my body. I can't leave just yet, that's what they said. I can't leave just yet, that was the therapy. God, how foolish of me. There is no turning back. There is no keeping it when all I ever got is now, is me, is here. I stopped the car on the side of the road, and I walk home weighing nothing, but my fleeting hands catching everything that I could, to hold it just there.
YOU ARE READING
words don't come that easy.
PoetryI've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first wav...
