How I dream for your fingers, long like violin strings, to curl around mine. Lead me away from my nightmare. My mind is an incessant nest of wasps and you are my pesticide.
But somewhere in our blissful silence, you will realise I never surrender fully. And you should know this about me; you cannot completely save me from myself. So leave that saviour complex at the door, because I am born to break.
-
Because I hold onto the fear of abandonment like that second bottle of liquor, when first hasn't numbed the layer of failure clinging to my skin. The same way my weeping mother clutched onto my father's midnight silhouette for the final time, before he tore into the starlit street. And the full moon illuminated the entire sky, because 'the world hasn't stopped rotating--
I drew my curtains, built my walls, and locked my doors.
Mine had.
-
Just in case your fingers never reach for mine, and I am left behind with a collapsing mind--
I do not let myself hope.
You remind me I'm too old to dream, and never too young to disappoint. I have fallen so many times, but I measure every centimeter, and you are a snowy mountain, higher than any I've seen, that is on the verge of crumbling--
-
Prove me wrong.