Tell me what your memories are tinged with. Does the impetus of our severance loom too massively? Separated by only a thin line, perhaps hate's sincerity eclipses what came before.
Or has the fuzziness of the moon's convalescence swathed me in some unattainable glory? We look at each other as mirrored reflections and make the same movements, but our actions contradict one another even as we are trapped to the same history.
It's all right if my misery was intwined in your perception of bliss or that our ending was an adamantine acquiescence. Breathe softly to preserve the beauty of what we had and don't let it be torn asunder by those knife-sharp jabs where our imperfection wasn't something tenderly human but was instead something that compulsively wounded. Time will soften out the edges, perhaps even rubbing out details that previously suffocated. Remember that first irresistible private smile. But remember that last released goodbye that had more relief in it than you would admit at the time.
It's an old filigreed world you hold in your hands. It's much simpler to let it be as it is, but how much more whole will you be when you allow those cracks to occur in your one-way glass perception of what we had. I've never been good at playing the damsel in distress, but it's only fair to have a turn in being the villain and the hero, the cop and the robber. But really, aren't we all sympathetic villains, a Mr. Freeze with good intentions?
And only when you allow your mythology fracture, only then you can finally allow yourself to be the hero of the story. Or possibly you can surrender to the confession that you were the sinner after all. Because when you were unable to forgive me and because you wrapped me in your inability to ask for my forgiveness, you didn't understand that your guilt bound us even closer together in a tender prison.
It's all right though. It took two to conceive the tango, and who's to say who was the leader, or whether our answer to that question even matches? Only when you see we were matching step for step can you finally let it go.
Only then can you release yourself.
Or has the fuzziness of the moon's convalescence swathed me in some unattainable glory? We look at each other as mirrored reflections and make the same movements, but our actions contradict one another even as we are trapped to the same history.
It's all right if my misery was intwined in your perception of bliss or that our ending was an adamantine acquiescence. Breathe softly to preserve the beauty of what we had and don't let it be torn asunder by those knife-sharp jabs where our imperfection wasn't something tenderly human but was instead something that compulsively wounded. Time will soften out the edges, perhaps even rubbing out details that previously suffocated. Remember that first irresistible private smile. But remember that last released goodbye that had more relief in it than you would admit at the time.
It's an old filigreed world you hold in your hands. It's much simpler to let it be as it is, but how much more whole will you be when you allow those cracks to occur in your one-way glass perception of what we had. I've never been good at playing the damsel in distress, but it's only fair to have a turn in being the villain and the hero, the cop and the robber. But really, aren't we all sympathetic villains, a Mr. Freeze with good intentions?
And only when you allow your mythology fracture, only then you can finally allow yourself to be the hero of the story. Or possibly you can surrender to the confession that you were the sinner after all. Because when you were unable to forgive me and because you wrapped me in your inability to ask for my forgiveness, you didn't understand that your guilt bound us even closer together in a tender prison.
It's all right though. It took two to conceive the tango, and who's to say who was the leader, or whether our answer to that question even matches? Only when you see we were matching step for step can you finally let it go.
Only then can you release yourself.