they say to get over a man, you need to turn him into literature.
but they never tell you how to get over something you've never been.. under, so to speak.
sometimes i wish i could just bathe in you and everything you are and all the pain you've caused me, id collect the pain like dust that collects itself in the corners of my mind and drown in it as it the pain washes over me like rain drops in the middle of winter, its cold and my body hurts, but ill dance and twirl while the cool air burns my lungs leaving me completely breathless in much the same way as you leave me when you look into my eyes
you love me and i know it
well
at least you did
and maybe you're just as broken as i am and we can try and fit our pieces together to see if they make a whole being but they don't so we'll spent our lives trying to force together two pieces of a different puzzle to make a picture without logic, a scrambled image of the life we always wanted but never had and it continues to allude us and we crave it in much the same was as the earth craves the rain but its the middle of summer, and we're in a dessert, and it hasn't rained here in years, the earth is dry and hard and hot and nothing will ever soothe the soul of a person standing alone in the middle of nowhere in a room full of crowded people, none of whom could compare, and will ever compare, to you..
