Not for children
Love is not supposed to be this difficult.
2100 You won’t believe me, but I tried to be the person that you wanted me to be. I tried to be your happily ever after, honestly.
But sometimes it becomes too hard to try.
Sometimes I sit and wonder if it matters. What matters is that nothing matters. I am nothing left. I am an alibi. It didn’t used to be this way. It was like so much more a breeze, or river wave, or grass and little pebbles, or the way the sun feels in the morningtime in Spring.
Remember how it goes? Did you forget?
When I say 333, then you say Aww, and that is all we ever have to say.
I feel as though the pace of life is slow, though we may try to rush it—slow, and long, and yet so short, as if the whole thing happened yesterday.
You can’t forget. And me, I can’t remember.
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