stop missing lost people so much.

exactly the weight of realizing that maybe you are fading. And maybe that’s healthy and well.

I scramble to pick you up like dropped marbles, and there’s too much for my hands, to carry in my pockets, keep safe under my tongue. But I can’t bear to leave even one behind.

That glassy shooter. That could be the one I kept the love in.

I don’t think this ever stops pulsing.

I don’t think about you much, but all the same, I think that’s only cause I don’t stop thinking of you.

I don’t think about the air, but I’m still breathing it.

Letting you drift from my mind, dissipate into a dust the air can carry away…it’s suffocation, it’s death.

So you’re here, in my pocket. And you’re not doing anything, saying anything profound or novel, not touching my arm with those fingers or implying that thing about that guy from that band was a total lie, not reading a book or smiling or moving…

But all the same, you’re the little thing that keeps me alive.

god i miss him.. i can’t even muster up the strength to just be like “oh i like your new hair” or “how’s your dad” .. cuz i’m scared hes gonna throw it in my face again that i’m “anonymous” to him now.. its not even like i want their friendships back.. no i just wish things were civil.. or i just want the satisfaction of knowing everything wasn’t lies.. fuck.. i don’t fool anyone.. well maybe not true.. one fucking disgusting no-moral prick thinks i hate him and never think about him.. well i can’t name names in this thing.. but i’m so transparent.. and i love how i try to fool myself into thinking i really don’t care about them or the complete opposite that maybe they aren’t lost and maybe they still think about me and miss me at times.. but holy fuck i must just have a problem facing reality because they are gone.. gone gone gone.. i need to stop acting like i don’t miss them.. i’m horrible at it.. if i don’t miss them why do i catch myself thinking about them almost everyday.. one day i’ll let go..

motherfucker…

High tide.

This is such a big thing for me. You don’t mean anything by it. It’s not like you were showing me photos of you and your new girlfriend. You weren’t. And I just happened to catch a glance. You’re lost, you’re gone. We’re on such different tracks.

Why, how, is that I still can’t catch my breath? I wish sometimes you would stop with this pretension of living without me.

There’s got to be something more than this…sourness.