this is a story about your nicotine fingers and your nimble lungs. this is the story of your glossy eyes and the protruding bones at your hips. this is the story of my blue pills, your worn out boots and the holes in your jacket. this is the story of your golden sinews, your bloody nose, my broken foot, your heavy heart and the dip in your neck. i’m not saying i miss you — i’m saying i miss the juxtaposition of us. you’re a quantum tragedy. you’re the death of a star. there are so many analogies to your fucking existence — god. i’d let you step on my back, claw your way inside me and tear my flesh apart, rob me the air i breathe and tug at my spine. i’d let you grip my neck while you took my heart, left me devoid of feelings. cold. i’d let you make me burst, shine like a constellation — and fade.
letters to my star // i.
