I drove past a stranger's house today. Except I used to know your eyes. I used to know your favorite monster and your favorite color too. I used to know your triggers, and how to calm you down. I used to know how your lips felt, and every picture in your room. But now the curtains are different, and you have somebody new. Do you still think about me how I think about you? Is your favorite color still the same? Or does it hurt you gently when you see it, like purple does to me? Do you still hate the color pink and think about me when listening to our songs or girl in red?
Or am I just a paragraph in a story where I thought it was a chapter?
Or maybe I am a chapter and you simply moved past it faster. You're in a new chapter already. While I'm still finding your stuff all over my room. you will disappear in summer at a bonfire. Crumbling under the heat and flames. I hope the ashes find you somehow. That you recognize your own art, and cry at what it's become. I hope Karma comes to collect her dues.
But I hope she does it gently.
Cause I memorized every inch of that fragile heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment