_i'm not sure if my heart thinks it's worthy enough to beat

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i’m learning how to breathe again but your perfume still reminds me of home and I hate that I remember it.

Some days it gets too cold so I think of that sweater of yours, in my cupboard, that I never wore. It warms me up a little.

I’ve stopped watching sunsets, they’re too beautiful and I don’t feel worthy enough to watch them.
I let them sink, like my feelings.
My heart weighs too much, it’s too heavy.
There are too many words I never said.

I never know poetry but my heart’s on paper and I pretend it breathes there.
Isn’t that enough?

I miss your laughter.
And I miss how mine fit in perfectly with yours.

I mumble too much.
I’ve been talking a lot since you left, yet my hands shiver when I write letters to you.

I love how beautiful the planes flying above my house are. They make me feel safe.
And then they leave.

I’ve been dreaming of leaving on them too,
yet I’m not sure if that’s how escape works.
if that’s how it should work.

I woke up a little too early today. And I shut the curtains tight, the sun shouldn’t rise without you.

It’s too cold tonight.
I burn our photographs to feel warm.
They leave ashes behind that look an awful lot like your footsteps out the door.

I light up three cigarettes at once and watch them burn out.
This isn’t a metaphor.
It really isn’t.
But it seems an awful lot like our love wasted on incomplete sunsets and empty poetry. 

I walk two kilometres to feel warm.
I start running.
I’m chasing my breath.
It leads me back to you.
I knock at an empty house.
The concrete under my feet feels a lot like the wood which knows it’s about to be burnt in the furnace.

I step backwards.
I keep going.
And I don’t stop.
Until I’m in the middle of a busy two way street with cars honking on either side and I can’t move.

I hear the yelling, the hurry and the panic outside.
But all I really hear is the first time I heard you laugh like there’s no tomorrow.

I know the ticking of the clocks doesn’t stop but I do.
I don’t know which direction to go in, the cars move past me and I feel the same old sour taste again, when I think of you.
I walk away.

I’m learning how to breathe again, yet every breath takes me back to you.

_i’m not sure if my heart thinks it’s worthy enough to beat.



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