there’s a halo tucked between the slats of my bedframe / 7.08.2021
ftm // 07.02.2021
[TEXT: You know, I think if I went back to meet my younger self that she would recognize me. I think she would know me without a second thought. She wouldn’t blink at the hair or the voice or the clothes. She wouldn’t see anything unusual. I think she always knew that I was there somewhere down the road. I think she was waiting for me, the way horses wait for rain.]
↠ maybe i don't actually understand, maybe i couldn't ever
““gifted kids”” this one’s for u
#writing#writeblr#poetry#? i guess#what ever..#wrote this in my journal and i was like ah. Deep tm#not deep enough to make a proper edit tho i did this in google docs ahahsksk#looking at it now I could've at least cropped it nicely but. no#boo hoo u guys don't like how I cropped it.. well.. not my issue#(lmao)
stand by my bed like you would stand by my grave. love me like i'm perfect, love me like i'm dead, it's the same thing. sit by my headstone and read a book, watch the flowers grow, the rain fall. i will be here, and you will be here, and that will be enough. can that be enough?
you knew a girl like that couldn’t stay forever but you loved her anyway
i. her essence still hangs in the air, clinging to your clothing like dust. she was just here, and it feels like she will be back soon. she will not be.
ii. you both know that it was a mistake to end it and an even bigger mistake to start it in the first place. and yet, you both know that it’s not quite over.
iii. you have always thought that you and her would find your way back to one another someday. it may not be today, and it may not be tomorrow, but you are patient. you are moss growing on a brick wall; you have nothing but time to give.
iv. you see her for the first time in years, and the air catches in your lungs. you have made her so ethereal in your mind, you almost forgot she existed outside of the pedestal you placed her on. you wonder what to say to her. when you walk away, you know you said the wrong thing.
v. the end is not near, and you know it will be a journey to get there. you wish that you had not met her so young. there is nothing as heartbreaking as young love, because it cannot last. the end of its fuse flickers out before either of you have had the first touch of alcohol to your lips, and you are both left with the resentment that you cannot even say you built a life together. the time between when you have turned to smoke and when you can touch her skin again is agonizingly long, and too many things could happen in between.
vi. but you remain the moss growing on a brick wall, and the dust under the bed, and the ink stained papers in a drawer. you are patient. you have nothing but time to give.