I regret to inform you that the foundation of this house is rotting, and the trees and life around it are catching its cold. This is what happens when we fall out of the sky, onto ground harder than what we had expected. And I’d like nothing in the world more than telling him how I feel. I want nothing in the world but to tell her how I feel. The first symptoms, noticed because of an apathetic excusation, a misconceived glance meant for the other end of the room, and the feeling of falling until . . . Held together only by my relaxed jaw and wide open mouth, it finally passed through me. Understand, that if in ten years I'm not who you expected, I can change that. I lost my touch, and silence is the only thing keeping our conversations in motion. But this is how letting go feels. I’ve not wanted to let go of infatuation, conversations, and eye colours because if I, too, drown in the emptiness - or serenity - of blue, my last memory of you will be my first memory of you. The first symptoms of letting go are noticed because of an apathetic and synthetic apology, a misinterpreted look into an opposite’s eyes, and the feeling of falling until I can contently whisper that I am in love with . . . And my last thought will be of the shade of your eyes.
You can be social, you can be charming, you can be gorgeous, while you're armed and dangerous but I don't have anything you want, so we can't let this be known.
