a jaded kind of beautiful

You know what’s one of the hardest words in our language? Stay. It’s hard to say, and it’s even harder to hear, but I still wish I had enough courage to carve that in my vocabulary.

In nights you thrash around sending bottles of wine flying over head and tearing out stray photographs, it’s just too vehemently scorching to hear it echo over and over, knowing you never wanted to swear it before and that’s all you want now. But it’s too late, because all the summer nights - of listening to the constant pitter-patter of rain, and watching the lightning above, and basically wanting to get the damn words out of your tongue (“Just fucking stay,”) - are over.

In mornings you wake up clawing, writing under the sheets and putting out candles with your finger because you need to feel the warmth of something, it’s just a wrecked thought that you could have listened to the word he said and chosen to have heard it. (Stay.) But even now it scares you to your bones that you won’t mind them weakening at the resolve that it’s too late now, because it is, and every vein in your bloodstream aches to realize that.

But you know what’s the hardest thing for that word? It’s so damn hard to remember how you wasted every chance to say it and every chance to hear it because you were too much of a coward. And it stays with you, that the hardest thing of it all is remembering now.