notifications on my phone like an evacuation alert,
i feel pity in not answering the messages,
and i blame myself for the way you no longer dance
like you used to.
but when you invited me into your life,
like a tkts ticket,
i cannot help to think i changed the story.
i somehow made the silhouette darker.
i tell you i am always here for you,
and in some ways i am.
but you will never come.
but i still hear your tears,
from the other side of town,
and sometimes i want to say,
its okay to cry but i know its not the only thing you're doing
behind those bedsheet covers.
once i asked myself why i only wrote at 10:30 pm at night,
staring into mirrors of distain.
once i asked my 8-ball why i still cared about you,
even though you are a stranger.
i understand i cannot change the scarlet stains,
that you wear like wristbands.
i know i shouldn't be that person to ask about your day.
but is it not wrong to try?
maybe im falling into the same traps you did,
to try to find a reason why.
sometimes i ask myself these stupid questions, like
would i even get a text back?