I think about you most nights, most days, around most people. Until I can’t sleep. And after all this time, we still meet in that dark corner of my mind. In a loop of our first violet afterglow. Where you’d wait for me.
But the past plays out in a phantasmagoria. I can’t want to leave this fever dream. Can’t get numb or get tired of this fantasy that’s lasted for years on end.
I would have crawled from my fucking grave if I knew you were waiting for me on the other side. To hint that I miss being around you. To half admit I stay on the verge of tears at the thought of you: that I still love you entirely.