Another sad soul to be opened up to the world, to add.
Only to be torn apart by that which is reality, and then pieced back together by a lovely pair of eyes time and time again.
How confounding are the eyes of someone who has truly seen you.
How accepting yours are.

Tales of a soldier leaving a wound open, out of disdain for past mistakes. They died in-content and alone, deeming themselves unworthy of all who ever approached them. The end of the story came a relief to the soldier, and when that time approached, they had this to say,"Blow the fever down before your heart bleeds broken." The soldier died a prisoner of their own regrets, heed their words or regret the day you didn't.

I'm homesick, *I'm sick of home.

I'm sorry, I'm so far away. The thought of you alone, feeling how I once felt. I understand that it feels like you can't escape the thoughts of her.

The drugs no longer take your mind long enough to forget, the alcohol is starting to feel shallow. You can't drown yourself in anything but your own blood.
The bathtub is drenched, the water is only slightly colder than your body..
I'm so sorry I couldn't be the blood in your veins to keep you warm.

I want to prove to her I'm not a *******, but the only way I could, would be moving on.
And the day that I move on will be the day that it no longer matters.
She will never know.
Yet again, another contradiction that will live until the day I die.

...So be it, I will prove it to myself.

Life's a neverending game,
and god is a child that's waiting to be humored.
Humor him with that broken up smile.

I was not passionless, you were my passion, as much as it may sound like a glorification or romanticization. As much as it may have scared you that I may have been in love with only the idea of you.
   But the proof was undeniable, those two years were based off more than just an idea, it was something more, a feeling, it was life. You were my life, literally.
   You were one of the few things that kept me alive at the time, when I was so terrified of death. With those nights we first spent together, on the golf course, holding hands, and watching that shooting star fall. The nights we would spend in my room just you and I, how I asked if I could lay on your chest, those heartbeats I heard were of the calmest moments in my life. The hours and hours of videogames we would play together, laughing. The things we would watch together as we ate away at what seemed like was our problems. The feeling of your cold floor as I'd walk barefoot to make us tea in your dorms, when I'd lay in bed with you, how cold my feet were as they touched yours, how cold they no longer were after.
   And now that it is once again cold, I can't believe that it was only romanticization, regardless of my claims of being a hopelessly romantic writer, I refuse to believe that. That warmth was not a lie.