All That Is Delicate Is Not Breakable

All that is full is not presence. Presence, by all accounts, is empty. Does it tear you apart to see your presence so empty-bellied?

When I think of love, I see inability. Are you upset by how colored it is? Does it tear you apart to see your inability so vividly?

All that is delicate is not breakable. Brokenness, by all accounts, can be mended. Are you upset by how fragile it feels? Does it tear you apart to watch me inhale so hesitantly?

When I think of beginnings, I see empty promises. Are you upset from how tired your lungs are? Does it tear you apart to feel the cold that your words leave?

All that is destined is not fated. Fate, by all accounts, is wishful thinking. Are you upset over how ironic it is? Does it tear you apart to watch me holding all my breath for you?

All that is remembered is not memorable. Memories, by all accounts, cannot be forgotten. Are you afraid of the things that stay with me? Does it tear you apart to wonder how I remember you?

When I think of time, I see inconsistency. Are you upset from how much you promised? Does it tear you apart to find yourself so incapable of delivery?

All that is felt is not reciprocated. Feelings, by all accounts, are fleeting. Are you upset over how temporary it was? Does it tear you apart to think of this not lasting?

When I think of us, I see incompatibility. Do you feel the invisible tug of otherness? Are you upset by the unparalleled paths we travel?

All that is heavy is not weighted. Weight, by all accounts, can fluctuate. Are you upset over how quickly I put you down? Does it tear you apart to realize you are no longer mine to carry?

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Curious mind. Creative heart. Old soul. Follow Olivia on Instagram or read more articles from Olivia on Thought Catalog.

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