music, poetry


I sent it in an email. I *think* I would have remembered you sent me a playlist, that you repeatedly mentioned, at some point in the year after I was in and out of the hospital, if this was reversed. But you are right. I have no idea what it was like.

I feel like I hung on every word of every goddamn song you’ve ever sent me. And making this for someone I had just said “I love you” to was like handing you my heart, and when you didn’t acknowledge it, I felt embarrassed and transparent, for yet again always being feeling like the vulnerable one.

But yeah, I know. You were sick.
And you are right, this isn’t space.

I suppose it doesn’t matter anyways at this point.


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