please let me have this. 

let us smile and nod and pretend we never broke each other's hearts.

i'll laugh at your quips and you can listen to my stories,

we can sit there and enjoy the warmth, remember the inside jokes 

and all the times we tried to stitch ourselves back together.

there's no need to voice it, we ran out of words months ago

but nobody knows so we still sit together, an unlucky accident

that would've had us blushing last february, a twist of fate

that i no longer catalogue as cruel.

the night will fall, the bottles will empty, we'll say goodbye

and it won't be the painful grand exit it once was.

we will wish each other luck and

this time we will leave in one piece.

- all i can think about when i see you.

 

Me es más fácil recordarte como la persona que no quiso aprovechar la última oportunidad que le logramos arrebatar al tiempo que como la persona que eventualmente se arrepintió de habernos renunciado. 

Elijo olvidarme de que escribir en realidad era lo tuyo y que por cada fragmento que te dediqué, me devolviste siete.

no cedan ante sus instintos dramáticos, amiguis.

Me acabo de acordar de que tenés mi reloj
y en el momento fue una decisión consciente
-soy dramática y me gustó la ironía-
pero hoy pienso
"la re puta madre, era mi reloj favorito".

Death Of Me- Marianas Trench

"And you, know you don't deserve this
And I, don't know how to word this

But before you go, before you go
I just wanted you to know
That I would, that I would
I would love you if I could
But my unsteady heart's not ready
You would only get what's left of me
Only this, only this is gonna be the death of me"

Like damn.

Hay días en que la ciudad me inunda de recuerdos,

como si lo implacable del asfalto me negara activamente la transición...

a veces siento que florecer en este cementerio es imposible.

oh how we wither

Of all the things that I've made mine,

of every feeling that’s dripped from my chest

and slipped through my fingers,

you have been -by far-

the most chaotic.

Because you return as if
 I never buried your ashes,
as if you hadn’t left the
most sour taste in my mouth
and I forget how to breathe
every single time.

I can still taste the wildflowers

on the tip of my tongue and feel them

on the tips of my fingers,

but I cannot tell you how much I hate you

because you’re gone before I’ve had time
to slow my racing heart,

before I've decided to
pull these roots from my ribs,

and everything that’s left

is months of insomnia

and bad poetry.