We danced, became the beat, fell and got up, and we couldn't even feel our legs at the end.

When the music is so loud it makes you feel like you are the beat. You don't hear it; you feel it in you.

Instrumental music, hot chocolate, warm fires and closed off hearts

But what if there was a plot twist? What if you fell out of love with me, and then fell again in a few years? Wouldn't that make a better story? I know how you like your coffee, you know how I like mine, but what if you get to learn me all over again? How I take my tea now, instead of coffee. You get to relearn me all over again.

It's been a while since I've written and now is a really, really bad time to
I'm afraid once ill start writing ill spill over the cusp of who I am

I want to set everything alight with fire. It seems to be everything I want to be and am. burn at touch, wild, uncontrollable at times, hazardous to health, destroyer.

Is it possible to die of sadness? I have scars, I'm afraid of needles, I have a violent constant urge to bleed or to spill blood, to scream loud enough to shatter, to hear the crack the break the shatter, I ache for my own heart to stutter to a stop. so if it is not possible to die of sadness, please, stop because of the rage, the emptiness.

Car lights flashing by, poverty in the streets, bad manners and wrong restaurant menus

There's something sad about you trying and trying until you physically can't. Your fingers hurt, hands shaking and there's sweat dripping down the side of your face. Your heart aches; it's the middle of the night, the place smells like rain. You wait, you try to breathe, you wait for someone to come and stop you. You can see cars below you, driving past, never aware of someone standing up on the bridge, waiting. You wait, and you wait. Nobody comes. Nobody comes to stop you and you feel like you can finally breathe. You take your coat, your shoes off. You smile, and for the first and last time, you mean it.