and i hate the awkward silences and forced interjections like,
"so how are you feeling?", "is this weather appealing?",
or "do i look appealing to you?".
and we'll talk about how sad we both got
and how we want out, but we'll never try to get out.
and it's cold in your house.
we drove in silence as 84 dragged along
with your labored breaths and me singing/humming along
to some snowing song. you can hate me if i'm wrong,
but i swore that novels once graced our tongues.
it's hard when you're still in love but something feels missing.
it's like rain on your birthday or when someone asks if you're okay
and you're just too tried to explain
that you never feel okay. there's a problem in your brain
that you just can't locate but you still know you're not the same.