fuck a fake friend
this won’t work
love doesn’t have the time or space
to grow here
but there’s thunder in between my thighs
and you carry the motherland on your back
so let’s pretend we have
eternity to fall in love
fallen strands of hair
buried bodies (in most cases)
nova, black holes
It’s a sad thing, forgetting. Like how my chin fit so perfectly at the crossroad of your shoulder and neck. Your scent traveled freely through my lungs and you would easily turn and kiss my forehead. And I would dream.
Yeah, it sucks to not remember any of that.