The caption comes easier than what I want to say. A straightforward dive of truth brought to you by listless days. You would say lethargic, but I hate that word.
The desire to hear what you’re up to as a tale of glory is so strong in me, but i’m finished with this taking over me. It’s like you have some weird geometric gravity force field around you that whenever I enter, my vocal chords go numb. My response is to drop this case altogether; because if you couldn’t see the potential we both had, your unintelligence strikes me as unappealing.
Experience is an eloquent orator, telling me it’s just an illusion. Longing is the silent grunt of a tulip, budding because it has to. Even if there was some external force out there, begging me to wait around and pray that you will come back, I swear to god that this guardian angel is doing one hell of a shitty job at protecting me.
