Before I got out of bed, before I tried to understand why you belonged to me, before I misinterpreted forever, before you were everything I never knew I always wanted—there was me.
You fill me; you’re everything I would be empty without.
The reason, then, that no book interests me is because I am reading them wrong. I was turning the pages left and expecting it to all be right.
I did a lot then that I am ashamed about, but goddam, if you couldn’t tell that it was love by the way our limbs tangled and folded together when we loved then it must have been wrong.
The stars have telescopes, the moon has its spaceship, the streets have their cars and bicycles, but what do people have, really? If we are only given other human beings then it’s no wonder why we feel like we have nothing most of the time.
I couldn’t tell you why I was never interested
in space or science, math or logic, but if
I had to guess, I would say it’s because
I have not done anything within reason.
"I’ve replaced all the doors with windows. I’m becoming more open, but I’m letting less people in."
you won’t lose
i lose you
I could’ve swore you sung me a love song back there, and that you meant it. But I guess some people just chew with their mouth open.
Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbars