Love is like the rain. It comes in a drizzle sometimes. Then it starts pouring and if you’re not careful it will drown you.
He liked the mere act of reading, the magic of turning scratches on a page into words inside his head.
my memories spill out
like the waves spill over onto the sandy shores -
overwhelmingly and without caution.
I could pick you apart in every crowded room.
I could close my eyes and point to every freckle on your body,
every place it hurts to be reminded that you are empty, but alive.
we’ve touched each other with more than just our hands.
but it’s over.
it’s over now.
Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it.
Find the things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go.
(pitched to different “gender”)
Sorry for low-tier quality, I just really wanted to hear what this would sound like.