A rush of blood to the head.

It was peace after the long wasted wait when you laid down your head. There were regrets gently killing the misunderstood at the other side of the door. They were swirling her chest without knocking. She was silently watching your smiles, your jumps, your slow motions in peace, at ease.

“Peace at last,” you told yourself.

And you wanted death. How does it feel to move on, as days seep through her sleep? You watch her bearings fall and slowly die away with the false recall. She wonders how it feels to taste life because of the last goodbyes in songs. You smirked your way through her eyes and ears, tasting her slowburn.

She always felt how tired and upset you were as she traces you beneath the greasy Japanese. The pain she bears tells of how long you can hold while she was the one stumbling. The nights of her gripping your hands are now far back behind the purple sky. You remember watching the ceiling with her as you both let each day pass you by.

How does it feel to live with everything that is not her? She still wonders, while she sings, while you’re back to the distant yellow world that she once tried to merge with her own.

She loved you too. Yet you were just too brave not to see it. Perhaps you were blinded by all the cuts you’ve been crying about.

She thought it was just a phase.

Now she asks, “how does it feel to move on?”

Because she had loved you all along and it’s clear that you didn’t know.

And at the far end, she rapidly fades away as she continues to sing for someone that you happen to know.


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