you're halfway delusional, and what's best is that you're aware of it.
you have ambition and you revel in the dismissal of others. you're a trained vessel in the arts of mirrors and pretending to know things, here where tedious figure eights and kissing slowly becomes distorted in perfect color. vibrancy, purple settled horizons, deeply hued of mistrust and fireworks in snapchat videos. new york, belgium and Japanese omelettes. you wonder, lately, when and where the dreams became someone else's, wonder if they were ever really yours at all.
when the sun rises and your eyes are browner again, you realize how you never learned anything about keeping them in your corner, what with words and not knowing how to empathize with yourself.
even afterwards when they've all left you're still a little delusional about your innocence , the way it was stolen like that bag of Cheeto puffs and sequin lined skirts, the same way you can't take back all of the halfway words you hadn't bothered to practice thoroughly.
in some ways you still dream in piano keys and words that don't belong to you. togetherness in delusion and golden hour photographs you haven't thought of in recent months, spreading your wings in the spring, descending in broad, patient circles, the feeling of gritty earth and fleeting heartache. it echoes sounds of the city and the time you wasted in writing words, all of which belong to him, forever.
the city was cold at night and as you escaped together, the delusions transcended your own.
realism became your trademark for many moments after, and still you dream in the darkness of night.
you prey for the light and steadfast your heart in the place where it beats, under his and your body where it withered. where you made the mistake of loosening it for a moment or two, can't take back a single one no matter how many words you'd given to him.
you don't know how to take them back, don't really know if you want to either.
