They ask us to breathe, while they stay gasping for air. They ask us to reach, while they pull back on our chair. They tell us to speak, and ask us to be silent when it wouldn't be fair. They ask that we see, only to criticize a question brewing in our stare.
I often wonder if it's something in the air, like breathing, freely, is the only thing I'm chained to.
Like needing meaning is the meaning behind all I've came to. And look what I've come to...
They ask that we hold on tight to the things that are meant to fall through our fingers. They ask us to let go, let go of things we know, let go of all that lingers.
So how do we believe in forever?
When our touch can only offer so much and our cries see so many goodbyes, when our time never really ties into the time we put into the lows to see the height of the highs. But we do. We do believe in forever. And I hope forever doesn't eternally leave us to bask in an unanswered prayer of hope.
You know, I hope. You know, I hope to remain in such a place of trust. The place where I...unapologetically feel just. Where I feel just, the feeling. The same place where I get to hold onto the meaning of what I'm reaching for. The same place where I don't have to explain it anymore. The same place where forever is a revolving door, Or like a revolver to your very core. They ask that we touch the sun, and then they bring us a gun, and tell us to choose.

I am entirely triggered and this is my muse.