I… think I like this. I like my concept and the title but I am not certain about the execution. I think it’s okay. Probably. Maybe.

We never existed in a proper state of existence. We were the moment before a kiss, the smoke before a fire, the calm before the storm. We kissed like our worlds weren’t collapsing around us, breathed as though we weren’t filling our lungs with smoke. Things were always so, so close, on their way to being okay. Always two steps behind where we wanted to be. We were the metal before the explosion, the beauty before the beast. We existed as a transition, as a before, an almost but not quite. It was pretty amazing though, wasn’t it? On the brink of demolition, the taste of fire on our lips? What a feeling. I thought we were infinite.

I have been playing with this one for about two months, and I honestly don’t think I can fix whatever’s wrong with it, so I guess this is the finished product? Just watch, I’m going to come back and edit it cause it annoys me. It’s supposed to be about how logic-based breakups hurt worse than angry breakups. The person’s asking why it had to end this way, wishing the other person had cheated on them or something, to make it hurt less.

Why couldn’t you have gotten drunk and punched a wall? Or maybe crawled into bed with a girl with shinier hair than mine? You made me say goodbye to the sweetest boy I’ve ever known. Why couldn’t you have been the one to ruin this? I love you, but we’ve been running on fumes for far too long and we both know it. I’ve been touching you too often, trying to give myself something to remember when this moment came. God, logic hurts so much worse than betrayal. Go kiss someone prettier, numb my hurt with anger. I wish we worked. I love you. I’ll miss you. You know I mean it. 

Kiss goodbye?

This took some churning out but I think I really like it.

I’ve never been anything but soft, softer. My kisses yearned to heal your aching from the inside, pull the hurt out with a touch. You have lips I never thought I’d get to kiss, hands I never hoped would be mine to  hold. You were an impossibility, up until our lips met for the first time and I threw away every reservation I ever had, because god, how could something wrong feel so right? Everything was perfect. I’d found a lover in a friend, solace in the pain. I was yours. But you weren’t mine. We played pretend far too often, and turned a blind eye to how warm it felt. Rethought touches and words, kissed for too long without reason, whispered reassurances at the broken pieces around us. This is fine, this is fine, we’re okay. Maybe the logic got the best of us. I think I picture our heartbroken goodbyes too often. Have we ruined this love we had?