memories drag dreams, and dreams become endlessly frenzied, breaking apart all coherent thoughts until the only things left are messy states of beings. my midnight fingers trail through the thoughts like stars with constellations i can’t fathom, and all that’s left in the burning wake, is the vision of two kids on a balcony, counting stars into pictures, wordless anger coupled with angst-filled frenzy.
you painted pictures into my skin once, but in dreamlike states, the familiar fingers trace ice into my skin, and every inch of broken is tinged with breaking, so that the end result is misery. if i could turn back time, i would have left you alone, probably, to save you from the heartbreak.
you can’t miss what you never had.