There was something that corrosive.
That intolerant.
That ignorant. That chaotic.
That drew me to your aftermath.
Something. Somewhere. Told me not to.
But, oh how I was drawn to you.
I couldn't escape. Looking back, I didn't want to.
That time.
That moment. That place.
When you too, saw something worth holding on to.
I was consumed.
Exhumed. Forced to resume. Daily life.
A simple shell.
Forged in hell.
To give you something worth loving –
even if it was yourself.
I will never stop living –
even if it's spent waiting.
For a moment.
Words spoken. Your silence.
Your memory is what I crave.
One day.
I will find the resolve to let you go. But, I'm not ready. No, not yet.
