Why a blink 182 song made me cry and write this. I’ll never know.
Twenty-four isn’t what they promised.
Other guys my age are out there kissing strangers in hallways, falling in love in the backs of cars, laughing too loud at parties that last until sunrise.
I’m out here counting breaths in the dark, trying to remember what it felt like to be young before the world got sharp.
Every time I’m staring down death — and it’s always closer than it should be — I think of her eyes.
How stupid is that?
How unfair.
A heartbeat away from dying, and my mind still runs back to the one moment the universe felt soft.
Her looking at me like I wasn’t a weapon yet.
Like I could’ve been just a boy.
Just twenty-one back then.
Just hers.
Heaven isn’t a place.
It’s a memory I keep walking toward with bloody boots, hoping I get to see her again before the next bullet lands.
