...and I'm taken back at the thought that this is what i wanted, I'm pulling arrows out of wounds already healed. In the end it's all the same: I fail to save her.
The newspaper read "fell short again," we'd fashioned locks to keys I chose to throw away, all to spend eight days remembering the car, the time, the kiss, and how little it meant.
Oh my god what have I done?
Where we reconnect, can I catch you sometime? But my arms aren't worth the fall, they're not worth it.