Thought.is

So she is gone. She is not coming back. And my heart is still resting fragilely in its chest cavity like a vase that’s been broken and carefully glued back together.

We truly loved each other. I am sure of that. But there’s no solace in the past tense.

You know what happened to James Dean? Yes, I thought so.

And when that midnight blackness does bear down, wraps it razor blade-studded tentacles around your throat, you take your beating and you towel off and bandage up and you keep on truckin’. If you can.