spoken word

The days I wrote about plucking petals off of roses, and the way the wind blew them away before I could ever get my answer on whether you could still love me were never the sad days. It was the say day when I sat in my bed crying, a rare occurrence. The only time I cried was not when I knew I wouldn’t ever get the chance to know, but when I knew I would get the chance because I had to stay. But in reality it had nothing to do with you. I cried because I had to stay and I understood and the strong front about not caring was finally crumbling. And not going didn’t just mean my dreams were falling apart. It meant other dreams would have the ability to happen, but they were lesser dreams. They were second option dreams. They were replacement dreams. It just meant I was settling. You were the only part that I wouldn’t be settling for. But, that was the only thing I could never be sure of. I could cry and kick and scream because I was stuck and it was always going to be that way but eventually id get tired of crying and kicking and screaming because no matter how loud I screamed or how hard I kicked, or even how fast I ran, I would still be left in the same place, but I wouldn’t even have the energy left to be stuck. And when you are stuck, your only option is to thrive without moving.