And then there are days when you are missed a little more than on Sundays. So I keep a blinking light on with my eyes shut, tracing back and forth in all the places that went dark. I have loved you enough to know that there are even things that slip off our hands when we try our hardest to not let them. But to watch you belong in a moment that I know I am not a part of, puts me in a corner I’ve grown to like now. This corner’s my home. A haven for all my sob stories. Do you ever really want to love me anymore? Did it ever truly hurt? We are given brief moments of happiness until it all starts to fall back into the wormhole of neverending unhappiness.
And there are these days, when I love you a little more than on Sundays.