It’s been hard for me to talk about this. At first I thought there was something wrong with my creative side, then I started to think that I wasn’t genuine and that maybe you weren’t inspiring enough. Either way, I tried writing about you at least five times before, and I still don’t know if this will be the one to make it through.

Why do you feel so relevant, though? I feel like the important detail of me not being able to talk about you is that I’m trying—that’s something new. I’m truly not used to not being able to talk about things. Maybe I even talk too much. Who knows? You don’t. And that’s so fucking cool.

I don’t want to think about it.
I’ve spent too much time trying.
I don’t want to know.
And fuck, I’m so tired of my own thoughts.

I figured out you make me stop wanting to say and start speaking.

And I’m sorry if you don’t get your fair share of romanticism, but it’s too late for me to go back to my ‘too sure’ ways. This time I know what I want to do. And so far, not even the moon objected, and good lord is she jealous. Maybe her silence is a good sign.

I just hope I always do it wrong, so I can do it again with you.