I’m chasing a figment of our love that exists only in my heart and you; you’re chasing her.
You know that moment when you hope for someone to ask you if you’re okay? I want someone to care enough and want to ask, but then, the more I think about it, it’s a question I don’t want to answer, not to them, not to myself.
All I seem to be doing is swallowing my words, living my life with one foot underwater and the other on solid ground.
It’s a strange kind of sadness that runs deeper than one would expect, the ache of lost humanity against someone who merely exercises their right of loving who they love.
I may still be a work in progress, but the grass is definitely greener from where I stand.
I should probably leave these walls, but they’re home, they’ve all I’ve known for as long as I can remember. The only way out is building a door, marching through it and breaking all boundaries I’ve ever known.
Who can tell that once upon a time we couldn’t stay without speaking to each other every second of every day. And now we pretend that our conversations never happened, that there are no Polaroids hiding under our pillows keeping us company on cold night, that we don’t know any of our fears and our dreams.
And perhaps the point is to not go back to what once was, the point is to move forward to what can be. Redefine the love, the friendship and make it deeper than ever.