I want to run...I want to live out near the open again. I want to feel free to step outside, to sit on a roof, to stare at the stars. I want to not have a care in the world. I want...I want...I want...

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Pashchatāpa

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You were the pulse in a room gone quiet, the breath behind glass I never could break. And I, with hands too full of my own ruin, let you slip still aching for the weight of you. I never meant to drag you through my flood. Hurt swells like a tide in me, and I forget how not to drown the ones who try to reach in. Forgive me. For how I made silence a weapon, for every sharp word disguised as defense, for the way I bled abandonment onto you and called it love. You didn’t deserve the shadows I threw. Now you haunt my unmade bed, the bridge of every song I can’t skip. I want to live in the flicker between waking and dream where you always stay. I still feel you. Still wonder if you feel me too in the space between the chorus and the collapse. I was never trying to leave. I just didn’t know how to stay without setting fire to everything.
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Will you halt this eclipse in me?

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