supertaliadx

there are times where i feel so paper thin; vellum, waiting to be marked and given a form, a ghost standing in the place where a girl once was.

at times, i move like a shadow on the walls, flitting about as the candleflame dances, soft and fuzzy, light shining through wax, a tunnel bored by an untrimmed wick

i burned too bright, i burned too long.

there's a hole in my chest, where the girl with my name used to live. she went to sleep long ago, and only wakes for short bursts.

i feel like i am made from the missing pieces in the lives of those who loved her.

a person-shaped void is still a void, and loving a ghost is a torment that i'd never willing let you hold