i’m too busy
thinking about why it doesn’t matter
to wonder if it should.
everyone else seems to be skilled
in the art of leaving
i never was skilled in the art
of being left behind.

i wouldn’t expect a post card
if i were you.
don’t worry
i’ll try my best to miss you
at some point.

Every morning I wake to bleeding fingers.
I sleep on a bed made from loose grenade pins.
Just reminders of a past life.
A former self.
Traits and abilities I haven't unlocked yet.

I will never be enough.

Even a glass full of water
Looks empty
From far enough away.

A year ago today, I sat on my bed.
Singing love for a girl who would never reciprocate.
She sure liked to say she would though.

Today however, a new leaf.
I sat and laughed with friends, over sushi.
A new city.
A new mind.
Jokes and banter float as high
As the I love you's
That came back around to bite
Like cheques that bounce.

You only really learn from pain
And I've learnt a lot
In such a short time.
But I always wake up
Before a bad dream gets too real
So I'm not that worried.