To You, on a Friday Night

Dear You,

The world is on fire and no one can save me but you
That’s how it’s written
In this moment it feels infinite and true
And that, in itself, is a wicked game

The world is on fire
Knees on necks, sweat on backs
Exhaustion, no air
I am broken, I miss you

I am torn

My hurt cannot not equal the pain
Borders that divide you and I break no ground on the ancient lines that have been scored
Bore deep in the earth
But it doesn’t hurt less to know that our love is not ‘essential’

Is it selfish?
It’s hard to be good when it feels wicked to need you like I do
When others need so much more
When will I see you?
I am torn

The world is on fire

 

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