something just still isn’t right. something’s not sitting well with me and i can’t place what it is.
i feel like something is left incomplete, or something is left unfinished. sorta like that “did i leave the gas on?” feeling…and then you realize “no, i’m a fucking squirrel!”
except i’m not a squirrel…and it’s not the gas that’s on.
maybe it’s not my nature to stay quiet. then again, maybe after my written letter does what it needs to do…maybe i’ll be able to breathe again.
burn my hands, as you always do, as i continue reaching for you.