The key to mystery is balance;

Though, I suppose, it doesn't really matter if you're not trying.

Sometimes the silence doesn't hang quite as heavy as it used to

but when your hand leaves mine, there comes that familiar sensation of falling from a cliff at

120 miles per hour.

Falling has never been so scary.

And it's not the way I'm falling for you,

but rather, the way you fall from me,

slipping through my fingers every few seconds as some invisible thread is cut.

When the sun's light shifts from my eyes, I find a stranger's body intertwined with mine.

How can your voice be so unfamiliar when I can still feel the ghost of your lips on my neck?


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