Pretension, dear love, does not buy truth into lies, nor alter its course.

No, I don't miss you... Not in a way that one is missed.
But I think of you.
Sometimes.
In the way that one might think of the summer sunshine
On a winter night...

An ambitious, paradoxical world we live in -
of short attention spans
paired with the massive fear
of being forgotten too soon.

He craved silences and solitude. He simply could not get lost in another person’s life.

I pour blood on my naiveté, your apathy, and your betrayal tonight.

But only when I hear those knocks
Accompanied by that question they all ask,
Curious about how you are,
Does realization dawn with a jolt,
You and I don't talk anymore.