You spoke to me.
It wasn’t what I wanted , but you spoke to me.
Like maybe I was something, but you didn’t mean it.
But I was just another girl, another face, in another place, staring out the window on the bus
with so many faces.
All the people; all of us hoping for another way home.
That we could go home.
Not our apartments or our houses but home.
Wishing that we knew where home was,
wishing that we knew WHAT home was,
wishing that we could change things, but we couldn’t.
And you were like a virus, humming inside me and filling me up,
my salvation came when you looked at me.
But it was nothing.
It was all in my head.
I feel it; like so many others, I feel it.
That sweet, sweet liquid running through our veins and congealing in our heart.
Stealing our last breath off of our tongues as we whisper into the quiet,
up at the moon as it pulls the tide,
as it pulled you and your blood and your heart away from me.
Away from yourself.
But you could feel it, you could feel it in your veins, and you meant it.
You needed to feel it. You needed
to FEEL something.
You needed to BE something.
Waiting for the clock to tick you away.
Waiting for the sky to clear
So that you could see the sun. So that you could see the moon.
Cause the moon always rises and the sun always sets, but sometimes we CAN’T see it,
because of the clouds and street lights and the walls that stand between us.
So we look up into the sky and we know that there is nothing for us there.
So, walk into the crowd and let it CONSUME you.
And don’t expect for them to know you, when we don’t even know OURSELVES.
We don’t SEE ourselves.
Like we don’t even exist, like we’re just a made-up faerytail in a made-up dream, or
maybe a nightmare.
But the good thing about nightmares IS THAT THEY END.
And then we wake up and we see that it was just a dream, and we forget it.
Like so many things that we forget.
Like so many PEOPLE that we forget.
Like someday you will forget me. But I will not cease to exist.
I will still be here watching you. Watching your smile and the smiles of all the people.
Because I don’t want to forget,
because someone Must remember,
or else they’ll never even matter, or else they’ll be nothing.
Because it’s a struggle to exist,
it’s a struggle to be something. We want to be something.
We want it to be WORTH something.
And that’s what we’re thinking as we argue and we try to make it work,
but we can’t, because it’s broken, because it was ALWAYS broken, and we can’t fix it.
But we try and we try. And we leave pieces of ourselves behind, trying to fill the gaps, but
we keep sinking. So, we lean over the bridge and jump,
But we don’t fly.