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@MoonieOnNoiseApp

When the world labels us as nothing more than an ugly mistake, I'll create a thousand fantasies about us and adore you unconditionally. I will spend hours writing you beautiful poetry and messages about my undying love for you, but I lack the nerve to actually send them. I'll never tell you why I look at you funny when you're not paying attention to me or why I don't rest my head on your shoulder like I did when I first thought you liked me. Because I know that when you look at me, you're seeing something else—perhaps a world in which you'd be happier with someone else's name in your mouth—and because I know that things like this are not supposed to exist, and it almost doesn't. You won't remember a thing about the evening by the time morning comes and you open your eyes to find your bed half-empty. But I'll remain here, with every precious memory carefully hidden away in my mind. As your continued silence has broken my heart, I feel compelled to write to you. This may be yet another eulogy for a love that you buried with us a long time ago. My mother once told me that a wound is a wound, regardless of the implement used to produce it, and that I should stop adorning my wounds with flowers because any implement capable of penetrating human flesh is essentially the same as a hunting knife. How do I break the news to my mother that I have been luring the golden dagger in your hands to the most vulnerable region of my body? Hangover cure 😵

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