The air now, it’s still.
No scalded skin. No smoke in my lungs.
Just breathing in, breathing again,
and a cold that I don’t mind waking up to.
I used to run towards the smell of a fire,
but sitting here, in the cold,
it feels like I was made for this.
I hate how nothing you say could catch to the tinder.
How your words fall like wet wood,
smoking without promise.
This chill, at least, is honest.
It holds no promises.
It would never ask me
to disappear
to keep it alive.
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 6:25 PM UTC
The air now, it’s still.
No scalded skin. No smoke in my lungs.
Just breathing in, breathing again,
and a cold that I don’t mind waking up to.
I used to run towards the smell of a fire,
but sitting here, in the cold,
it feels like I was made for this.
I hate how nothing you say could catch to the tinder.
How your words fall like wet wood,
smoking without promise.
This chill, at least, is honest.
It holds no promises.
It would never ask me
to disappear
to keep it alive.
I will never forgive you
