I was nineteen. You had your lips on my neck and whispers in my ear. You drove me crazy. But I mistook crazy for absolute happiness.
I laid in darkness, in bed with the same song on repeat for hours. I wasn’t sad. I was happy because that’s what happiness was to me.
You choose darkness over light because one is the truth and one is the mask.
We’re transcending and I’m pacing for something more than this.
It doesn’t make sense until you make sense of it.
We’re meant for each other for a moment, but no one knows how long the moment lasts except the moment itself.
In theory, I never loved you. I loved us. That’s what everyone forgets.
You slip in night because darkness is a type of coldness. A temperature where you feel somewhat safe. By feeling safe, you feel like you. You blend in with the night causing your shades to become temporary enough to expose them.
And I touch. Not because I want to feel, but because I’m looking to see if this is real.
I couldn’t sleep without you. Not because I needed you, but because your body was a temperature I was used to being next to.