Half-way across the country and half a world away from here, someone just like me is sprawled across a bed, not dreaming but not awake. Every word they said a stinging accusation to us, and maybe we lied but maybe not. Maybe we had to because it was the easiest way to make them listen.
I don't think we lied because I am not crying, and when he lies I feel his guilt. Now I just feel empty. This void in my chest is where my heart used to be, and where something more important was once placed. We still feel each other but it's just not the same.
There's a certain beauty to musical inspiration, you know?
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