We’re so nervous, this time of day; the fist meeting tends to do that to us, when every time we graze fingers a bolt of electricity shoots up my arm- or am I just imagining that? And if that’s just me pretending in my own mind, what about the fireworks that went off when we kissed; we’re so nervous this time of week it’s remarkable we speak at all, drawing minute long breaths and prolonging the awkward conversation. Masking the truth to protect ourselves from the pain, asking clichéd questions so we feel more comfortable- we’re so awkward this time of year, the first kiss setting off warmth and suddenly, either everything is gone or it’s all in front of us; forget the white lies we’re no longer able to say, is this real or is it fake? We’re so awkward this in this time and space, and I can’t remember where my hand is supposed to be placed.

You can’t do it, can you? The times are hard and your head is in the right place, just draw the line and we’ll know peace. Flawless in every way but one, this isn’t how it was supposed to be done; movement becomes difficult after years of dying, and everything is blank once you actually stop trying. Bringing yourself to end it won’t stop the world, but your breath is halting and you’re not alright. Falter and the decision won’t be made, just an inch away from eternal twilight. Masking tape over the wound won’t stop the bleeding, it just makes it worse, and our pencil lead can only cause so much damage. Doing everything in your power is just an excellent way to stall, and you can’t say anything without being scared of how hard you’re going to fall. Abbreviated consonants are all that will be left once this is over, and you can’t do it without breaking down.