you can’t burn the same match twice and expect it to keep you warm.

It’s the story that no one wants to hear.
How we got here, how the stars came together for a perfect eternity, how they couldn’t stand all the pressure.
How every eclipse since then has been lacking.
What do you tell them when they ask about me?
Do you mention how the galaxy was ablaze before it all went black?
Or how the moon smiled down at us and how you told me it looked sad?

It’s about nausea and running in circles.
It’s about everything aligning only to fall apart again.
It’s about merry-go-rounds and swings and how you always get a bit dizzy after a while, but you get on anyway.
It’s about how the summer felt much more like winter after you left.
Every summer since has come with a bit of rain.

No one wants to hear about the build-up before the break down.
No one cares how good things were until they went bad.
They’ll say rotten fruit was ripe once, but that doesn’t make it any less poisonous now.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write
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