“I walk the line between numb and feeling never fine… Which way does the tree bend if an earthquake happens? It’s better to break than to relish in the fact that pain just happens, shit happens. People like to ask about your day out of habit, let’s forget the small talk. Ask something meaningful and I’ll point to where it hurts the most– some things can’t be said, some things are better left for dead.

So I write it down, some days I can’t tell if I’m writing because I’m alive or if my writing keeps me alive. Some days I feel like death is calling for me, some days I wake up and feel like death was watching me. Which way does the tree fall if it’s cropped from the top down? Which way does my heart break if you said I love you but didn’t mean it?

Some days I worry, most days I’m a mess. Point to the answers and I’ll follow you. Point to your pain and I’ll make sure that you won’t be standing in this lonely, lonely rain alone– so I’ve tried running away, but I’m everywhere I go. I’ve tried kissing silence, but your voice has taken my tongue for less than a picture of you smiling.

I’ve tried dressing tears indoors I’m afraid to close, but every reflection is a chapter I’ve built cities around you in. I’m always lost when I wake up, and I know I’ve kept you under a cloud I don’t want to feel, but I’m rebuilding every bridge I’ve crossed just to forget you.

Though you’ve been doing more than crossing my mind, darling you’ve built a home there, and every time I see the sun I know that to love you again is to forgive myself. to hold you again is to delete every calculation of wrong words against the bruising of my thoughts.

I’ve been peeling off more memories than reaching in for love, I’ve been fragrancing the next turn because rolling stalemates has left the taste of salt in my mouth. I touched you once and I’ve never wanted to stop since, but the seasons slept in another’s eyes, and I know I need someone to love me like I love me first.

I slur all of my words, I never say the right words anyway. I cause more pain, I am always wrong anyway.

I could have done this like that, I should have been there for this, I would have been the one if I was the only one– love hurts so freaking much sometimes and I don’t know which is worse. Knowing that we could’ve worked or knowing that we you didn’t try hard enough– these days? It’s not your fault. It’s just more things to write about, it’s just more things to forget.”

The Ate & The Bunso


The authorKen

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