love letter, or suicide note

I loved you always and you saw the world through me, never with me

I wanted to tell you how I felt but my lips were stitched shut and you hid the scissors

if we never meet again I’ll be on the bench thinking of the whys, hows and whos

it was time, and I hope you understand that, so I write to you to say I love you and goodbye

——————-

I have a fascination with the boundary of which love transitions into chaos and madness. I believe that any love letter line could be a suicide note, and vice versa. above I wrote a lovers goodbye note but without context it could mean a more permanent goodbye. I just wanted to consider it through a narrative voice. I urge you to try and walk the tightrope and see how it feels.

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falling

it’s strange to me that falling in love is this graceful tumble, and you feel the deepness of the tunnel as you fall – this gradual process where you know what’s happening and you don’t stop it because you’re not afraid. but I couldn’t tell you when I fell out of love. before, during or after The End, it is indistinguishable. the falling out part wasn’t a process, it wasn’t even conscious. it just suddenly was not. I was still without knowing the ride had ended because my eyes were squeezed shut. I wish for no one to see that part, and to only suddenly realise they are still

immune

I want to be immune to self analysis, unphased by evaluation, neglectful of infinity

I find myself thinking about existence – the way that the ball I’m on is spinning and there are probably other balls spinning where we don’t know and that this moment , this exact moment has happened before somewhere else, and this moment will last forever through time. I don’t have a great knowledge of astronomy or to be honest, life. so everything I’m saying is merely my interpretation, looming over my thoughts. if I do something that is so un-me, will I be testing the way the world works? this can’t be it. what if the timeline was screwed with and we all wake up and relive the same day but we don’t even know it because life is so routinised and mundane. I want to be able to notice, I need to be able to tell its different. or the same. there must be more