#amons-abyss

March 2020

8/27 @9:35am

He smelled like tobacco but his mouth tasted like burnt coffee.

What a tragedy it is to cry over someone who never loved you.

If people were colors, he’d be the color indigo. Always in the middle and hard to distinguish his boundaries. Representing a deep under layer that makes you want to extract more from underneath the surface to truly dissect and assemble one’s identification. Was he blue? Was he violet? The answer was neither but rather in between, and it was a result that left me puzzled the more I tried to understand.

Who was she? When did it start? Mindless questions I didn’t really need the answers to, yet they pecked at my brain anyway.

If I decide to open my heart to you again, will you make me regret it?

It was always someone else. Always another hidden option that became victor.