6.11.18 | the lonely hour: 1:50 am contemplations
'tis the lonely hour.
the time at night in which I analyze everything I possibly could.
the time where my brain concocts metaphors and similes; anything to explain myself.
the time in which I feel like a ghost who fails at being invisible.
I'm too transparent, unable to be seen or heard, yet you know I'm there.
but we don't acknowledge it.
we don't acknowledge anything.
like how he has taken the guest room-- a guest in his own house.
or how the palpable tension encourages goosebumps to spread over my skin.
and then there's the web of a love life that I have weaved.
fragile in some places, strong in others.
of all the times to be alive, I'm fortunate enough to live at the same time as you.
isn't that something?
the time at night in which I analyze everything I possibly could.
the time where my brain concocts metaphors and similes; anything to explain myself.
the time in which I feel like a ghost who fails at being invisible.
I'm too transparent, unable to be seen or heard, yet you know I'm there.
but we don't acknowledge it.
we don't acknowledge anything.
like how he has taken the guest room-- a guest in his own house.
or how the palpable tension encourages goosebumps to spread over my skin.
and then there's the web of a love life that I have weaved.
fragile in some places, strong in others.
of all the times to be alive, I'm fortunate enough to live at the same time as you.
isn't that something?
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