sabaiskala

i don't want you to be a lesson， learned the hard way; pulped up in the metal teeth of my dumb machine heart， hacksawed and hatcheted， left worsened by my wanting. i don't want you to be a lesson. i want you to be my lover.

i would've followed you anywhere 'cause if i loved you at the start， then i would love you at the end.

and in the middle of my chaos there was you.

you realize that grief is perhaps the last and final translation of love. and i think， you know， this is the last act of loving someone. and you realize that it will never end.