It’s okay.
I understand.
I know these walls, I rebuild them every time
when you think again
and turn the poisoned blood of a hopeful heart
into coal.
I grind it down, again and again
mix it with phantom tears and the shreddded remnants of possibility
make it into mortar, every time stronger
for my walls.

It’s okay.
I understand…

But it was beautiful for that brief time, wasn’t it?

I told you and you kissed me. I told you and…
and you were so beautiful, and I saw something,
and we shared each others smiles, and we shared…

Fuck this. Everything. You.

I’ve already written all the words of the few I find special
that think again
go away. I had hope for you
in you.

Maybe I should just stop dreaming os someone like you
because you don’t seem to exist
because I do too much and every moment is nothing that you can forget
and I am not your fucking pillow, my scent is long gone
and I am far away from you now, far further than before
but I still think about you and what could have been if things were different
all the time
but now I can say it –

because the hope is gone, and

 it doesn’t matter anymore.

And no I don’t understand
tears that are erased
and no I don’t understand
how you can all go away
and no I don’t understand
but I hope you do, because
the walls I build are meticulous
and anyone I let in should know their strength
and how easily they are built again
and I walk away
looking back
hoping to see you

but all there is
are the walls.

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