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Literature Text
there is make-up in the way you wake-up and i think that maybe
the people we really are only show themselves at one in the morning.
you live thirteen oceans away on the seventh floor in an apartment that
looks cynical and run-down at the same time and your eyes are the grey
of the ocean and cement factories and -
and i am eleven seconds away from deleting the twenty-three pictures
i saved of you, you have seventeen freckles on the bridge of your nose
bridging the gap as i trace each one into a constellation we burn
bridges before we get there, we are nineteen and -
and then we are five first learning what it means to fall and skin your skinny elbows
with no one to bandage it with kisses i have three scars on my body
and you are the compilation of every misadventure we ever were,
memories of ‘89 even though neither of us were alive then
you are my worst mistake but i can never quite regret you,
warmth that burns me as i swallow, you are the alcohol in my throat and -
and we are the thirty first of february and i remember you staring at me
with those two eyes that looked as desolate and alone as prime numbers
broken factorials, sprained calculus and hungover arithmetic; i knew
that you weren’t joking when you said that you wouldn’t make it a day past seventy-one
i knew that you were living a borderline existence and i told you to connect the dots
as though they were stars even though i knew that you’d never been able to;
you say that we are years made of three hundred and sixty seven days
you say that we are burning calendars and i believe you because your eyes look fifty nine
as though you’ve aged every century halfway and i know it was all my mistake
but i still don’t know whether i ruined you or you ruined me first and this
this is what being young means, tripping on words, tripping on numbers, tripping on feet
i don’t fall in love, i fall and crash and -
and two thousand five hundred and thirty one specks of light later with decades
in between you and i, you are still my favorite number i number my memories of you
memory number two sitting with knees almost touching elbows almost bumping
my side is electric to your touch
memory number eleven your hair falling into my mouth as we
kissed and kissed and kissed skin melting into satin into sweat
memory number seventeen we are seventeen we want to be but we can't and -
and we could never be more or less than the sum of our whispered wishes and good-byes.
the people we really are only show themselves at one in the morning.
you live thirteen oceans away on the seventh floor in an apartment that
looks cynical and run-down at the same time and your eyes are the grey
of the ocean and cement factories and -
and i am eleven seconds away from deleting the twenty-three pictures
i saved of you, you have seventeen freckles on the bridge of your nose
bridging the gap as i trace each one into a constellation we burn
bridges before we get there, we are nineteen and -
and then we are five first learning what it means to fall and skin your skinny elbows
with no one to bandage it with kisses i have three scars on my body
and you are the compilation of every misadventure we ever were,
memories of ‘89 even though neither of us were alive then
you are my worst mistake but i can never quite regret you,
warmth that burns me as i swallow, you are the alcohol in my throat and -
and we are the thirty first of february and i remember you staring at me
with those two eyes that looked as desolate and alone as prime numbers
broken factorials, sprained calculus and hungover arithmetic; i knew
that you weren’t joking when you said that you wouldn’t make it a day past seventy-one
i knew that you were living a borderline existence and i told you to connect the dots
as though they were stars even though i knew that you’d never been able to;
you say that we are years made of three hundred and sixty seven days
you say that we are burning calendars and i believe you because your eyes look fifty nine
as though you’ve aged every century halfway and i know it was all my mistake
but i still don’t know whether i ruined you or you ruined me first and this
this is what being young means, tripping on words, tripping on numbers, tripping on feet
i don’t fall in love, i fall and crash and -
and two thousand five hundred and thirty one specks of light later with decades
in between you and i, you are still my favorite number i number my memories of you
memory number two sitting with knees almost touching elbows almost bumping
my side is electric to your touch
memory number eleven your hair falling into my mouth as we
kissed and kissed and kissed skin melting into satin into sweat
memory number seventeen we are seventeen we want to be but we can't and -
and we could never be more or less than the sum of our whispered wishes and good-byes.
and there are break-ups in the way we shake-up as our clock ticks back we are past our prime
a collab with a-girl-named-divine, what a sweetheart <3 much love to you, div.
her version : fav.me/da9499w
a collab with a-girl-named-divine, what a sweetheart <3 much love to you, div.
her version : fav.me/da9499w
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Comments7
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it turns out that this has exactly 500 words (or at least that's what MS word told me.) I find that rather ironic, don't you think so?