to you who has given up on me:
there is a distinct bitterness in the way i remember your name now. granted, i have the shorter end of the stick, but there is a certain cruelty about fate that brings back times to when you were a better person. it saddens me now to realise what we were: souls bound by circumstance, who would’ve otherwise abhorred the essence of the other. without the fierce burning of a fork-tongued demon, you would never have found solace in a star too bright for you.
tell me, what do you feel? can you feel? beneath the golden gilded wings that you have, who are you truly? indeed i was foolish to look into diamond and see treasure, when all you amount to is carbon, black and miserable.
thank you for everything else, aside from the good. for giving me insight through dull-coloured lenses, where all the world points back to you as if you are the centerpiece. try as you might, donning costumes of souls too big for your little heart, too mighty for your tinfoil soul and too colourful for your monochrome mind, you will always be the same person you’ve changed into seven months ago.
thank you for showing me the world through your eyes.
i just wish that you saw it through mine.