#and we all deserve a better less morose poet

the thing about watching someone fall out of love with you is how slow it is. how hard you try to get it back. the careful, horrible twisting of yourself into an unfamiliar shape - just in case this new form might finally be enough. just in case this next beautiful moment will call them back. each little slip is just giving them more reason to leave, so you try to never slip. in the end, you become accustomed to a strange and groveling perfection - and for what? they don’t love you, neither who-you-are or who-you-became-for-them. you wake up and they are okay and moving on - and you have no idea who you are or how to get back home again.