𝕴 have moved so far away from you that I have become a myth; a lie you tell yourself each night. I am the one true thing you've held in the palm of your hand, the key to everything you wanted.
𝖄our name smiles at me from a crumpled envelope, addressed to the past, unsent and unseen. Inside there is a letter where I tell you a story about the moon, how night after night the darkness carved at the pale curve of her body until she became half the woman she was.
𝕿here is a word that hurts my heart—one I don't ever say out loud. Like the shadow that lingers in the light, I can't seperate myself from your memory. But there are some nights when I look up into the sky, and the moon is whole again.
𝖄our name smiles at me from a crumpled envelope, addressed to the past, unsent and unseen. Inside there is a letter where I tell you a story about the moon, how night after night the darkness carved at the pale curve of her body until she became half the woman she was.
𝕿here is a word that hurts my heart—one I don't ever say out loud. Like the shadow that lingers in the light, I can't seperate myself from your memory. But there are some nights when I look up into the sky, and the moon is whole again.