There aren’t enough metaphors to explain it. Not enough pages to write. Not enough poetries to make. And yet, here I am, still using the words to make it hit the mark just a little bit, almost begging, almost breaking.
There aren’t enough reasons for me to let it go, even if everyone, including you, says so.
You are that starlight, that earthquake, that peach. I wonder if you’ll ever know, ever listen, ever watch, ever feel.
I bet you don’t.