Tra Sole e Parole

I know for a fact there’s not gonna be another you or another us. And I know I can’t grow another heart, can’t shape my wounds into butterflies. But I don’t know why I keep growing older while time stands still. I don’t know why the seasons still change when the world stopped spinning. It’s bizarre how many places I’ve been when I haven’t moved an inch. I tried running, I tried walking, I tried crawling. But all I get is one step forward, one step back. As if life were an endless burning desert and no matter how far I go, I’m still where you left me.

For a moment, I believed removing the dagger  from my chest would stop the pain. Only the wound opened wider. No hands to stitch it, six long months, and I’m still bleeding. I don’t know how to forgive myself for how long I’ve let it consume me, I’ve let it feast on me until I could no longer tell where the pain ends and I begin. I killed you, burned your body, buried the remnants of your bones deep beneath the ground, and still, you remain. Dostoyevsky was right. Your worst sin is to destroy and betray yourself for nothing.