She pulled away, because she couldn’t have it all. I couldn’t tell if I was ever really there, or if I’d just crafted such a well-intentioned illusion of myself that neither her nor I could tell the difference.

My false persona speaks more truths than I seem to be capable of translating.

We wake up all sharp perspectives. I don’t really know which direction to look in. I feel faded in the centre, I feel frayed at edges. I feel punched through and forgotten. I feel like there’s too much attention on my every move. 

I feel too much some days. I need to numb that shit down.

She feels like a bomb, ready to go off between my teeth. She feels like an explosion you could fit into your mouth. She feels like something about to go terribly right and wrong and all over. All over this situation.