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.
February 21, 2017
.
.
.
.
I expect to smell smoke everywhere I go.
(I still think I’ll wake up.)
Catalogue everything.
Who knew you could have this much shit?
What can be cleaned?
What's worth the effort?
What needs replacing that's irreplaceable?
(It's been too long—
I'm not asleep.)
There are some holes that can't be filled.
Some losses can never be made right.
Sometimes,
You can never go back to where you were.
Can never be who you were.
Sometimes,
You fight the fire and think you've won—
But it can't be put out with what you have.
Sometimes,
You never had the chance of winning.
Sometimes,
All you can do is stand outside and watch it burn.
You don't think it's a victory,
But everyone who loves you will.
(If you'd stayed,
You'd've died, too.
One day, you won't feel so guilty.
((I hope)))
I still expect to smell smoke.
I still think, sometimes, that I need to wake up.
Picking and choosing what to keep,
What to replace,
What to forget about.
So much was pulled out
But what mattered most died hiding in my room
While I stood outside and watched my home burn.
Sometimes,
You’ll never be who you were.
You’ll never become who you were becoming.
It doesn’t feel like victory
(yet)
But you’ll be someone new.
(Dying trying to find him wouldn’t be victory, either.)
(One day, you’ll believe it.)
February 21, 2017
.
.
.
.
I expect to smell smoke everywhere I go.
(I still think I’ll wake up.)
Catalogue everything.
Who knew you could have this much shit?
What can be cleaned?
What's worth the effort?
What needs replacing that's irreplaceable?
(It's been too long—
I'm not asleep.)
There are some holes that can't be filled.
Some losses can never be made right.
Sometimes,
You can never go back to where you were.
Can never be who you were.
Sometimes,
You fight the fire and think you've won—
But it can't be put out with what you have.
Sometimes,
You never had the chance of winning.
Sometimes,
All you can do is stand outside and watch it burn.
You don't think it's a victory,
But everyone who loves you will.
(If you'd stayed,
You'd've died, too.
One day, you won't feel so guilty.
((I hope)))
I still expect to smell smoke.
I still think, sometimes, that I need to wake up.
Picking and choosing what to keep,
What to replace,
What to forget about.
So much was pulled out
But what mattered most died hiding in my room
While I stood outside and watched my home burn.
Sometimes,
You’ll never be who you were.
You’ll never become who you were becoming.
It doesn’t feel like victory
(yet)
But you’ll be someone new.
(Dying trying to find him wouldn’t be victory, either.)
(One day, you’ll believe it.)
