"we pass the ghosts tht haunt us later in our lives ; they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the corners of our eyes , if we see them at all. The idea tht they have been waiting there for us rarely if ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our little footsteps and catching up, little by little."
Midnight strikes, where is my prince ? Lost my comfort, more time to think Broken and bruised, tell me what I am Feel so unused, help me find your hand I guess the sun still waits here Got to hold it up for him Carry me home Bear my weight on your shoulders Carry me home Nothing else matters Carry me home #JorjaSmith
When I tell you I don't love you anymore, neither of us can tell if I'm lying. If old habits die hard, then bad habits die harder and this is on par with 3 packs a day. This is on par with a bottle before breakfast.
Old love tricks us I think. There is nowhere to put it. So it lies on the bottom of your heart and shivers.
My body remembers you too well. My insides light up like the traitors they are when you cross the street in front of me and it takes a full five minutes for my brain to catch up. You don't love him anymore, remember ? Or you shouldn't, remember ? Or you're fucking stupid if you do, remember ?
So ask me again. Ask me if I still love you. I don't think so. But if I do , it's less like champagne and stars and more like faded Polaroids. More like the weight of the sun pressing down on the horizon every afternoon. More like the way you have to cut a tree open to see how old it is .
Less like love and more like that detached way you love people you once loved.