We\'re all faces in a crowd,
silent under too much sound.
Hearts beat in half-steps,
scraping against each other like sandpaper,
strangers sharing breaths
that mean nothing until they mean everything.
we rush to forget
the bruises we collect in silence
— like we don’t deserve the air we breathe
because we breathe it wrong.
I’m too tired to feel sorry for myself
but there’s a part of me that hopes
someone, somewhere
is looking at the same moon
thinking the same thing:
\"How long do I have before I fall apart?\"
But the answers are just as vague
as the promises we make to our hearts,
all those dead-end roads
we knew better than to take.
It’s hard to stop running
when you can’t remember where you were meant to be.
So I’ll keep walking in circles,
barefoot on cracked pavement,
hoping the stones that get stuck
in the soles of my feet
might be something worth collecting.