time without writing is my form of liberation. it’s forgetting, losing oneself in death of silence. and every time i tell myself i shant succumb to the lustre of words, to their shine in the night, i do. and i drive a wedge between us.
one can’t help these things.
i learnt to sleep without turning, only to stay in your arms.
i learnt to entwine my legs around you, to hold you in my eyes; to speak english the way nobody else can, taking you on a magic roundabout with my mouth.
but my breath is free. it swirls like water in a glass; shakes with the weight of the world; breaks in spasms. it parts my lips warm and freezes. it cannot find nourishment in the cold, it loses its essence. like i.
and i cannot give you what i could have given you. or maybe i’m not enough. maybe i never was. only gods know what it is.
tragedy always happens around this time of year. maybe our stars are falling tonight. listen to them thump as they break the surface tension of the ocean. then wait until they surface.
if they ever do.