Please, i'll tell you when i'm sixteen. By then you could be dead, and your room will be red with glowing eyes. So, could you please tell me why it's so hard to survive? I think of you at night because something tells me you are still awake. I can't get you off my mind as your face disintegrates. Childhood memories are so euphoric, but we try to ignore it. It's just a metaphor for our dreams, as they are blinking - blinking - blinking out of reach. We play the game of staying alive. And by the night, when we close our eyes, we hope to open them to morning. And a part of us hopes we never do open them again. In the morning, the sky won't be mourning. he's just thinking, "guess I lost another one." And he'll move on, in a way it's so frustrating. The world won't stop rotating. As shadows, surely, are slowly fading - falling onto the place where I last heard your voice. Surrounded by people, and still so alone. We'd conquer the worlds that we mapped in our heads. We talked, but silence split us again. I want to talk to you, but maybe it's just me. Afterall, this is one-sided. Bittersweet, like poetry. I miss you, but I don't think you miss me. Memories fading out of reach. Nobody said growing up would be easy, but no one ever said it meant that we would part. Scrolling through text threads, replaying memories, holding on to what I remember of your face. Maybe this is it, you'll fade away. Maybe it's time I let you go. I'm losing my grip. I won't write about you anymore, this is the last time. Unless you send a text, I guess this is goodbye. - me, 1:07
written by me. comments welcomed..
