march 4th, 2019 — 3:13 pm.
what happened to us? will we ever know? will i ever know? do you even know?
if so, then why does the narrative keep changing?
our ending’s rest in two perspectives, one sensing defection, while the other wanting direction.
we stayed awhile while our versatile sundials turned to tactile lifestyles in the exile of our defiled meanwhiles.
now i can’t tell if we’re hostile, worthwhile, or senile.
burned by the unconcerned silence that shows,
deleting words from existence — the sentences formed before,
like, “you’re the greatest guy i know”.
as i think to myself… “um ok sure.”
if that were true, then maybe she’d speak to me.
if that weren’t true, then maybe i’d stop thinking about her.
is it better to have loved and lost if you’re being lead on? or is it better to have never loved at all?
or am i overthinking?
maybe i’m overthinking.