we imagined our bodies were continents but my continent became an never ending earthquake, trembling until it tears through the exoskeleton of my body. the earthquake was panic attacks. i learned to interact with them so i could see it coming. i learned to appreciate the homes i destroyed, and i helped you clean up the rubble after i obliterated you. architect of sadness: you built an expansive house that's always empty and chilly. you let the prettiest flowers wilt and die. your bright colors coating your exterior shows promise and sentiments, but even the ones who walk through your doors notices the absence. it's always too late to sever ties when you are given the keys. your voice is like the dinner bell, ringing through the west and east hallways and haunting these walls. we were two different worlds clashed together like the big bang, we were pangaea, a super continent exploding with content and then continential drift split us open. somewhere along the line, you became australia and myself the united states, where swimming to you became an impossible task. even at the end of it all, i asked for the keys to enter inside the same house holding empty promises and a foundation i knew was built from the hands of an amateur architect. is that what love is? walking into the scorch of hell's fire because you're willing to deal with the permanent third degree burns and scars the fire will leave on you? because that's how i know i love(d) you.