there are times like these where the paper stares back as blank as I stare at it there are times when my mind stops running and the fog clears out - the pain has diminished, melted away in the cracks of recent lovers covering them in a monochromatic film it dulls the pain
the hum of the vent is whispering sweet nothings in my ear and i've never noticed how grounding the table is under my elbows the air tastes of musty filing cabinets but that's okay because 1,000 years ago it was just a barren field under my feet
my nose is running slightly and there's a heaviness in my eyes that I can't explain but I never knew being happy would mean wrapping up the memories and burying them under the desire to be loved
I think I'd rather be sad and introspective than happy and numb it may be lonesome, but at least I am able to differentiate between who really cares and who's only here to say they've climbed the tallest mountain