Things Are Not Always of You or I.

I want to bleed my weaknesses from me through the tears I cry when I think no one can hear them falling through time to the earth beneath me.

I distance myself hoping the sound of my breaking heart will fade in the distance, unobserved.

I battle my way into the future fueled by the intensity of long buried anger for the inability to protect what little innocence is left in this world.

I wonder if you even saw the scars you caressed those nights. Did you sense the fear in them as your hands glided over them? Did you wonder what caused them? Or were we too busy feeling the presence of the moment to take note of our pasts?

These thoughts are not meant for you to see. Unvoiced romanticisms of silly rendezvous of spirit that meant so much.

Back to bed, with me, my dreams are calling and my eyes are tired of not seeing those things they would like.

Rest. Heal. To begin again.