sinking into two am @ friday morning[too early]
wondering why we wonder why

It’s paradoxically peculiar how one chapped lipped kiss can be folded forever in your fingertips, because you know you’ll never let its texture go.

How a story comes, briefly brushes against your skin, leaves little traces of itself all over the flesh of your memory, and then, as though it never existed in the first place, disappears.

How you can’t quite catch your breath long enough to capture a thought as it crosses before your eyes in your bedroom while you’re busy biting your nails and attempting to slip into a sheet of sleep.

How you lie awake wondering why you waste so much precious time wondering why when all the answers you endlessly search for are settling in your stomach, so empty and upset, just beyond your reach.

How you rely on remembering but you fight to forget, drowning your steady sorrow in a song or a story that never seems to stay long enough to be rightfully replaced.

How your fingers swell with things to say but the pen in your hand gets too heavy to hold and you drop the sentence, watch it stutter to the floor, find its place among the tiles and remain unwritten.

How you want something so Shakespeare, so hopelessly romantic, simultaneously ironic and right, something so senseless, it makes sense.

How you’re always waiting for something, never knowing what it is or what it was until its come and gone.

How you know you’ll always have a particular weakness within your heart for her voice on the telephone, but it still surprises you every time your heart sinks at the sound of it.