You and the stars are so inconveniently out of reach.
I am addicted to the thought of being with you
If you get lost, my hand will be your atlas,
If you wander too far, my voice will be your map.
If missing you is permanent, I want to be temporary.
And there I stood, stuck between the rage and the tears, spiraling into a chaotic drain of my own relentless turmoil. My fingers slid against the cold steel until I reached the trigger. My hand trembled, my heart beating louder than conscience would allow. No thoughts, no sanity, no pity. It was gone. I pulled the trigger.
It won’t be until you get to the end of this story that you’ll realize,
What you were looking for was always at the beginning.
This void is never-ending, never-closing, never-dead.
Love is like that sometimes, it even lingers in your bed.
We believe in the world we’ve created for ourselves. But everything is numb to everything else. It’s only a flood if you let it take you under, it’s only a journey if you decide to take it; it’s only love if you let it tear you apart.
So listen to me carefully, and take this all to heart. I miss you more than the desert misses the sea, and I’ll hand you my love wherever you may be.
It scares me so much. Knowing that you’re not there anymore, not even in regret. Not even in heartache. And maybe that’s the grand coda of love, not the pain and fear and the missing, but the vastness that comes after.