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Macseal
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5:45 A.m
I hate that I still care about caring too much.
The goodbye in a few months is silently pulling me under.
5:45 A.
M.;
the moon's fighting the sun,
and I'm the only one whose awake to see it.
If you've had enough to have had it up to here with me, you can always call it off.
I hate that I still think about that honest day, the thoughts I must eradicate.
The dark hallways I turned down, the ones that led to no escape.
Every door that I forgot to hold, the curtains that I didn't close, sweaty lips and bumping noses.
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