2:17 PM.
It hits me, I'm late.
2:17 PM - 2:18 PM.
My heart begins to ache.
2:19 PM .
I realize my life is over.
2:20 PM.
I gaze through the car's window into the sky.
2:20 PM.
I question my entire existence.
2:20 PM.
A tear escapes my eye.
2:20 PM.
Driver asks what's wrong.
2:20 PM.
"I'm late, again." I say out loud.
2:21 PM.
I realize I'm actually 3 hours and 39 minutes early.
2:22 PM.
My heart continues to ache; my life isn't over. Ugh.

What is so bad about reality, conversations and confrontations?
Why can't you ever seem to mix these together?
How am I supposed to know what is so good about us,
if I can't even find the truth, the words and your heart?

At first,
you spend
a couple moonless nights
getting to know the meaning
behind my name,

then you trace the
beatings of my heart
when you hear my voice
calling your name,

and one moonless night,
you reveal to me that you're the Sun
and I realize that the meaning
behind my name always had revolved around yours.

I am not what you have made out of me in your head at 2 am when you were thinking about the very specific way I wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm not a fact that states that I'm a very expressive person. Trust me when I say you don't want to know how I would express my thoughts of you, so don't try to define my lines when they aren't very clear, not even to me.

At times,
my heart pumps emotions
that don't belong to me,
that cut deep enough to
make me acknowledge that self-destruction can
never take a form stronger than this.

I look at you,
and wish that I could feel like I need you,
but I don't,
and that hurts because
it's never easy to walk away
from someone you're supposed to love.

I'm sincerely sorry
that you felt how much
I don't want to be here,
it wasn't my intention
to open your eyes to the truth,
because truth is just a perspective after all
and to you all my perspectives are wrong.