Our lives are just like books
Filled with numerous chapters
We may not like what’s inside
But turning the page and
Continuing the story
Is the only way to move on

Falling.
they say that it’s exhilarating
like a fast car at midnight
cheeks aching from
the grin that couldn’t be held back
warm fingers laced between
the imperfections
forgotten
and yourself
found.

But
what if the car
crashes
and cheeks become tear stained
cold hands holding your own head
heavy with thought
and memories
lost and
broken.

I suppose
I’m yet to find a
fall
that seems worth all the
what if’s.

If the x-axis represented
the year we met, and
the y-axis represented
the year we stopped talking,
our point of intersection
would most likely be (14,15).
And sometimes, it seems so unfair.
Sometimes I wish
we were parallel lines, and
we never met in the first place.
Other times I wish
our lines coincided, and
we had an infinite number of solutions; an infinite amount of time
to know each other.
But our relationship is beautiful,
too, in it's own way.
We're two lines with
a plethora of things in common, and our lives got to cross
for just a small amount of time.
We got to find each other,
and then drift apart again.
But I'd rather have one point of intersection than none at all.

I spent my nights reading books in our greatest libraries
Searching for what it is I am still clinging on to,
Then after the final vowel I realised
The one thing I miss about you, is you.

I find myself free falling
pulled by gravity
watching the ground slowly sneak up on me
and if I knew a way to slow my fall
maybe it would be your arms
that caught my all
but you seem disinterested
distracted by the sky
I'm just another spec of dust
something that's in abundace to find