Some of my words from the past

I could probably talk for hours, like moments on a train. But soon the words go up in smoke, no longer the power of a flame.

Yes, the words burn, sometimes they sting- but soon they have no weight, let them go, tie them to a string.

I could probably look at you for hours, like moments of this day- but soon the stare loses it’s meaning. Staring at a blank page.

I could probably melt if you held me like you used to- but I don’t
have the energy to force it. I could mold myself into what you want- be something that I’m not. I won’t lose myself again.

I could probably talk for hours but what good would that do? I’ll always have a better listener when I’m talking to myself.

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