you said the word pathos to me like I had cancer, but I didn't, so we couldn't be friends. that was probably the first time. next it was the night outside my door, when you accused me of starving my dog. you fed him small handfuls of kibble while I sulked, betrayed in the corner. if I only I knew then that the pieces would never come back together.
then there was the bleach. yeah, I fucking did throw it down the stairs at you, wishing you'd be erased. or at least separated from my real life. rabbit holes and free falls... that is the only environment such creatures as us can live.
the last time it was more subtle, found at random like a rusty nail on the side of the road. it came as a gift, odd in shape, smoky with intensely hazy power. I forgot exactly what I said, but I do remember you were nowhere near enough to hear me say you are a regret, a name on a list, a wound unhealed by your own hand.
I mouth these things to myself from time to time, desperate to keep connected to another time. sometimes it feels like all the love in our world died with our youth. which just makes me think that our connection is even more valuable now then it ever was, even in the most happiest of times. I let myself dip into the past, not because I want to regress, but because I believe that is all there will ever be.