before i could even tell her, that her voice was loud enough, and the way she colored me never matched anyone’s.
the missed years and wasted sunsets now sit across the table, mocking me into submission.
there was a lot i could’ve done for her. it now rests upon my shoulder, they form like alien letters and weigh like blood.
the legends are real, listen - i know now. there is nothing heavier than bearing who you were everyday.
this is the year to be free. please please, if you’re still hurting - i hurt with you, and so know that i guess it’s okay to get better. we will get better. happy new year, poets. may our love never die.