lately i’ve (not) been

by ty

there’ll always be something about the things that help you breathe: and those that tell you to stop

when transient abrasions from clinging onto the hems of ironed shirts are bandaged by his trembling fingers around your wrists, just so the movements stops for a moment and you can finally convince yourself that there’s nothing to be missed in running in circles wordlessly, soundlessly adding to the din.

because afterall it’s just small prints and silent voice messages in foreign languages, sore spots of hardened skin where rough jabs and soft cuts once stung and

mutually exclusive vows made over half crushed cans of cheap coffee spilling over hand-traced blueprints of how his voice used to blend with the hushed chants of late night traffic

and the concept of having someone to share burdens with: even when people are like paper flames waiting to combust

especially when the only thing you have is guilt and guilt and guilt does nothing but put cut lips and reminders to breath less on repeat in a faulty algorithm.

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