The pages have faded, yet revisiting them is like the scraping of old postage stamps in the corner of a page. Something tears as the fragility gives way. The nails try to be gentle, but they never are. The page catches under the nails. The page leaves a papercut of memories.
My heart feels like a doomsday vault
Our doubts are traitors
Don’t break the rules you make for yourself
God watches the internet.
Lightly gripping fear in my hands,
because my mind thinks its cool to fix broken things.
Ironically, my muscle memory is still programmed to touch-type your name.
Even though its accidental.
Sometimes you need to give yourself time,
but sometimes time gives itself to you.
Winter nights stretch out forever
in never ending silence filled with ticking clocks that grow louder until dawn.
Take all the time you need… life is going to do what its supposed to.