If I could turn you into sunshine, and absorb every wavelength possible. If I could make you into air, to inhale your every particle. But my lungs are heavy, and my skin is dry. My bones are brittle, and my flesh is wasted. But I'd still weave it all into you and hope that I'd be able to unwind myself without it left tangled around your spine. Forgetting the spineless back you taint with your lucid dreams.
I am still surrounded. Surrounded to still be sitting here listening to the same song, smoking the same cigarette. I have very little regrets, but you make the most of them. It is about the wide space in me I left open for you, and you very lightly left for disappointments. Nothing special about anything, except for the context and the little kindness-es you’ve sparkled over life on occasions. It tore my heart every time I had to leave and you gave me permission. “I am sorry honey; do I have a reason to not seek another?” “I just want you to be happy.” Selfish, self-centered, trapped little boy. I could’ve made you the happiest, if only you knew how to let yourself in me. I could’ve made you the realist, if only you recognized all the faults in your logic. Naive little boy. I am gone, I am so gone. But you still make me nervous, like all the hairs in my body waiting for a smile. Did you need to follow me to the end of the world to show me our love then tell ...
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