I used to sit and dream of these moments.
I used to light cigarettes in hopes that the smoke would push my memories of you deeper into the abyss. But I could still feel them, lingering there like the faintest whisper of my name. I prayed—prayed to whatever was worth praying to.
I was a fool for you.
But heartbreak makes for good poetry material.
There is no time to grieve.
Life keeps going no matter how slowly you breathe, no matter how long you stare at those pictures: the ones of us holding hands, the ones of us smiling, the ones of you pretending you were in love.
I hate thinking about the time that has passed. Not because I dread the memories, but because they were all too sweet. Four years is a long time.
Four years is an eternity in the blink of an eye, it’s the moment your lips meet mine,
it’s every breath I could not breathe.
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