This is a breakup of ideas.
This is a breakup of notions.
I loved you in what feels like another lifetime, and here I am trying to talk in sunsets and plane rides and oceans.
This is a breakup of meaning.
This is a breakup of implication.
You came to me in bad blood on a breeze, and I’m saying all this in what must seem like oversimplification.
This is breakup of conviction.
This is breakup of care.
I have so much of what is yours, and inside it draws me toward you as if it were you that I had, but I know you’re no longer there.
This is a breakup because we never broke up.
This is a breakup because we never were.
I fell in love with every single thing you love,
and I thought it could make me something lovable to you.
Now I’m home, with all the nostalgia of a foreigner because home is all tied up with all the things you love…
I’m realizing how much I can take on without it ever feeling like I’m giving something up.
This is a breakup of necessity.
This is a breakup of self.
I listen to the music I heard drink in hand, the smell of coconut oil blowing off the bow as you stood there looking out, and it rips me in half.
This is a breakup of calculation.
This is breakup of design.
However far, however much time, unless I say it out loud… it will keep me coming back to the thought of you, midnight in paradise.
This is a breakup of determination.
I can’t keep getting by if I’m always saying maybe:
I’m always missin you /
Miss ya miss ya /
Miss ya miss ya baby
November 1st, 2015