thespian

i) sad it is as to how the only reason for us to talk nowadays is a mere number, a meaningless, digit condensed into pixels on my tear-stained phone screen. sadder, it is, as to how i would rather swallow glass than swallow nothing, like scavengers in the savannah feasting upon the leftovers of another. are their god-given instincts a veil of deceit, or are they truly relishing those scraps of rotten carcases?

ii) happy it makes me to recollect the innocent string of sweet nothings you’d whisper in my ear. they sent ticklish sensations coursing through my blood like candy, candy a child would sneak another of even though his mother drones that the only nutrition it could offer were ephemeral sparks of energy, then nothing. but the purity of youth breeds the best kind of love, and i have no regrets.

iii) confusing it remains to me about how effortlessly you tore yourself away from my grasp. maybe the love i sought from you was meant to fill canyons in me, whilst there was not a crack in you my love could possibly serve to repair. i thought you were a half-heart without me, but i also forgot i was bad at math.

iv) admiration i’ve always had for your heart of rock, a heart that has cracks for veins and granite for skin so mark my words: i will learn from you every day, till my soul cements and reaches a solidity great enough to crush yours.

— (why are you the only one who makes me emote?)

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