rise17

It would have been the same as how many eyes they say I have. Contacts were my staple, but to you the red frames made it no different, because I was 'different'. At the time, you had been too. I thought we were good, but you decided we weren't. That cut-and-dry. Not any responsibility put on my shoulders. It's the geography, the timing, the implications. It was the excuses, the lies, the pain. That's what got me. The woven hands now ripped away with touches of memories that never formed. Choked off from life, before they really began to breathe. Without even the courtesy of a real explanation. One thing requested, one thing denied. Clarity