you laugh downstairs and the sound travels to my heart, not stopping for the walls. but it’s lost some of its grace in the bitterness i coat it in because you are laughing but it is not i who is making you laugh.
my heart is so guarded for fear of breaking skin cells and press-on nails. the walls of my bedroom are weak because you have tried so hard to break them apart. i am terrified that one day the wolf winds will come blow it all down.
but at the same time, it is the stone walls and iron precipices you see that keep you away, and i’m not sure i want you gone. the real walls of my heart are paper mache and they are waiting to be plastered into the shape of all the love i have for you. i am so scared of heartbreak, and you cannot keep your promise to keep me safe. i think you know that.
there’s the sweet babble of midnight singing and it would be beautiful if it weren’t so bitter. i don’t know who it is that is crying. i don’t know who suffers more— is it the endlessly lost or the hopelessly searching? i wonder if we can meet in the middle. maybe somewhere between us is less likely to snap.