“Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those.”
| — | Sylvia Plath I still think of you of course. Oops, my bad, I mean of him. I won't address him anymore. Where was I?
Oh.
Yes.
I remembered.
I still think of him of course.
Long before the night falls,
even amidst the noise.
And I want to message him,
I do,
But in all this time he has not bothered
and I hate this clingy, needy part of me
that wishes we'd
just
talk.
So I decided
since I have no way of knowing
since I only know the facts
I'll act accordingly and cut it all off.
Like a wound it'll sting
and it will leave scar tissue behind.
I've always been fond of scars.
"If you still talk about it
it still matters."
If I stop talking about
will it stop mattering?
|
I feel like something about your voice in writing has developed a lot recently. Idk if it's because what you're specifically writing about or what but I have enjoyed it.
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