You ask me how are you?
I want to answer I am the after math of you talking about loving me with a mouthful of leaving. But all I reply is a thousand little things which don’t catch your attention.
I say I want to hug you.
But the truth is it’s just arms locked in losing and permanent smiles that don’t fade easily.
I say I’m used to the cold, and these odd digits make me feel hot in spring. But I’m just cold from Frozen nothing’s of your silence.
What a beautiful house you make out of longing. But darling it’s just windowless rooms of pain.