You and I, we are one never-ending run on sentence full of grammar, none of which is grammatical… we are language, the spoken word as it exists, beautiful in its imperfection but broken, maybe;
this run on sentence refuses to cease and meanders on endlessly through cracked “sorry”s and “I miss you”s - like I’m sorry I never believed you when you told me I’m beautiful…
But we are desperate like contractions, words that beg to come together but whose meanings remain unchanged, with the will nots that won’t, the cannots that can’t, the should nots that shouldn’t;
one never ending run on sentence that’s crying out for a pause, a moment of silence, but our author only grants commas and semi-colons before he returns to “but”s and “yet”s and “however”s and
we are this never-ending run on sentence whose words paint pictures of memories that float across synapses by the thousands like stars - infinite, engrained, and possibly the greatest weight we’ll ever know…
This run on sentence has been tattooed on my skin since the first day I opened my heart, and the ink only expands each day, extending from my core and wrapping itself round each limb and I swear every fiber of my being feels the ink of You running through my veins…
it’s this never-ending run on sentence I see when I stand naked at the mirror, tracing faded handprints that once found the outline of my fragile soul…
No, this sentence is broken and imperfect because following the rules was never something we did but I know for a fact it would never replace “love-making” with “fuck”, even now when we meet behind closed doors and you still touch me the way you always did;
our author has just changed the title of this story, this sentence…
exhausted from its journey it will fight on, even as clocks melt and the ink on our skin fades but you and I, we both know one thing:
an ellipses is not an end
get rich or die trying to graduate from college
(Source: trentaicedcoffee)
