Before midnight leaves her with this creeping termite-like impression that says it doesn’t matter what happened anymore, just what she’s becoming in a breathing place called a city where a face must have been breathing life into her words, yet to no hold when her core’s such a chore to shelter and choosing happiness isn’t a reflex—she chokes in her clouded, spacing-out mind so used to make sense of the heart’s splinters and nothing else. Now where does she go from here, where does she go from here?
Tag: city
What we are having
Maybe I just find it easier to be hopeful than happy. Scary, scary happiness—an acquaintance, way less than familiar.
How I wish I can tell you without a strained face and heavy nothingness that I know it by heart, that it’s in me, that I don’t have to try too hard for it to stay. How I wish that I can let you see through the cracks to show lit rooms, but all reveals empty spaces.
I can point you to presence, but it’s part of memory, and both haunt and betray.
All I have is this hope of breaking through. All you have for now is this breaking.
Andeng 