midnight, one, two, three am things always turn downhill and you don't know what to listen to anymore because your brain says move on but your heart says she's in there somewhere waiting to take me back to old memories and broken dreams. you take a sip of your wine thinking about the intricate details of the universe and how every single constellation in the sky cannot begin to describe all of the beauties of the mysteries outside of your town, and meanwhile you talk to her hoping that maybe you'll see that light shine as bright as it once did for you. you told her once that no one is okay and everyone has their own problems, but you try to hide yours in times when you cannot afford to, and you don't know she's behind the screen crying because she knows when you talk to her it isn't you speaking to her, it's hormones speaking to her, it's you speaking to a body, it's you speaking to a mind that is not the same as the one before her. when you tell her your problems you rarely mention more than a sentence because distancing yourself is something you've learned how to do through repeated mistakes but what you think you know is that she's being honest when really there are walls and pain behind her heart. oh she can tell you lullabies and make it seem like she's another snow white fresh out of the woods, but life has taught her that there will be no prince in the end, and with every other time you reaffirm that statement her mask breaks once more - she's one step closer to cracking.
she walks out to her normal spot every morning waiting for the four wheeled vehicle that is supposed to take her to seven hours of hell and she looks at the stars and thinks how beautiful it is that humans are nothing. she does not think about the mysteries like you do, she thinks about how everyone is insignificant, how her life actions will not be remembered, how she as a human being will leave the world virtually un-impacted. to her, that is beauty. but to you, that is terrible. that is why you two will never truly work out.