In one month it will be four since we last spoke,
but I can still taste your voice in my throat
and it hurts.
the worst is knowing I was wrong. the rest is all shitty love songs and
my therapist, who I have stopped seeing and
the pool of light from the lamp at my bedside
that looks like your hand at midnight and
little things like this
are still making me cry.
the worst part was not knowing why,
and knowing I might fly across the country again some day
only to feel lonelier than at home.
When I’m alone sometimes, I threaten to call you.
Sometimes I do, but hang up before the first ring.
I know that you never think of me.
And my god says all love takes and it givesSign Language; Hannah Beth Ragland (via allmymetaphors)
in equal parts. Even when it doesn’t feel that way. She says love is like the ocean and the rain.
And last week she said I should be thankful for all you let me keep,
and the bits of you still between my teeth
and the nights I can still sleep through.
My god tells me I shouldn’t call you,
but sometimes I do, and I’m sorry.