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summer quit like the future ahead of us. maybe i hold you too tight that i have to lose me, maybe my friends were right—i talked about you a lot than what i had left on my plate, maybe if i submit when you admitted your mental health was way better than getting my signs, going back to my hometown with my stitched bag wouldn't be this hard.
in an empty mall at night, on the bus station and city roads, i could feel you—your lingering perfume, your kooky voice, your adorable face and shadows, you! and healing for me doesn't mean cleaning my mess up but messing it more so i became a chaser of empathy in the places i thought you were there. and i know how it was sickening for my closest ones, to take their comfort as nothing because i would and would wish for your best although it wasn't me.
the rain of june started just the moment my eyes begun to track the weather—just when sleeping and reading self help books were bearable than staying on my messages—doubting what wrong did i say again. yet, the windy season was folding me vulnerable of what could have been. i would still wanna be own like a damn song but would you let me own you in every season? i bet not. being with me was seasonal.
