We throw our suitcases and our hearts on the floor the minute we get in the room. We’re exhausted from just getting here and a scratchy throat, holding back tears, free coffee in the lobby, checkout at noon.
We unpack the things we brought and the things we have been using to hold ourselves together all these grey years. You have never painted on your own walls. Maybe that would fix things. It’s dark outside and this isn’t even a small city, it is just some place where we go to rest in our sadness together instead of on our own. Days with pass by in what seems like a few hours and we wont nearly get to say everything we wanted to say to each other. These fractured lives we share, similar shards of glass, puzzle pieces that almost fit. We empty our hearts into each other’s mouth and it taste like tap water.
We unpack the things we brought and the things we have been using to hold ourselves together all these grey years. You have never painted on your own walls. Maybe that would fix things. It’s dark outside and this isn’t even a small city, it is just some place where we go to rest in our sadness together instead of on our own. Days with pass by in what seems like a few hours and we wont nearly get to say everything we wanted to say to each other. These fractured lives we share, similar shards of glass, puzzle pieces that almost fit. We empty our hearts into each other’s mouth and it taste like tap water.
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