If you were here I’d be home now
If you were here maybe this city’d be more forgiving
If you were here I’d be complete
If you were here maybe I’d be the same person I was before
Maybe it’s best that you’re not
So I can grow, and you can grow
So maybe when you’re finally here
We would already be home.
Please tell me again why I had to suffer because of the pain someone else caused you.
I was convinced that pain marked a beauty on the soul that no other thing can,
A beauty that only manifests itself in silence,
When the soul decides to endure the pain rather than allow others to taste it’s bitterness.
And the soul then becomes the most precious thing.
But, much like physical beauty, this special beauty of the soul can be used in various ways.
The possessor of said beauty, now that he has paid the price to own it, could choose to never let others feel what he has felt.
Or he could choose to inflict the same pain on others, for he now feels entitled to be able to do so now that he has felt the same.
Both choices are fair, and both are available to this beautiful soul.
But he should realise that one of these choices has made his soul priceless.
And the other has made it the scum of the earth.
Clarity comes with the realisation that you are not entitled to anything but responsible for everything.
Bloody do what you have to bloody do.
I hope the scars you left on my heart allow yours to beat better.
give me time to forgive my past self that was stupid enough,
to trust you with so much,
when everyone saw so little.
How many times did I, into my cupped hands, whisper your name?
Like you would ever do the same.
I hope God is there to smile upon you always,
Because I can’t,
and never can.
Leave me be.
“I’m glad I’m more than just blubber”