It feels like every time I get close,
something bends until it breaks.
Like my hands aren’t made for holding,
only for leaving marks I never meant to make.
So I start thinking...
maybe distance is kinder,
maybe silence is safer,
maybe I’m better kept small.
Less feeling, less reaching,
less whatever it is that turns things heavy.
Because I don’t want to be the reason,
someone pulls away again.
I don’t want to watch another good thing,
slowly come undone in my hands.
So I tell myself...
it’s easier this way,
and leave it at that.
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 1:27 PM UTC
It feels like every time I get close,
something bends until it breaks.
Like my hands aren’t made for holding,
only for leaving marks I never meant to make.
So I start thinking...
maybe distance is kinder,
maybe silence is safer,
maybe I’m better kept small.
Less feeling, less reaching,
less whatever it is that turns things heavy.
Because I don’t want to be the reason,
someone pulls away again.
I don’t want to watch another good thing,
slowly come undone in my hands.
So I tell myself...
it’s easier this way,
and leave it at that.
