foxtongue | priorities suffering (this is a repeat)

I'm worn.

I lost a job today. One I needed for well being more than anything fiscal. They were kind there, and laughed. Instead I will be setting the sky on fire. Taking wires and powders and alchemy. One night crying with chemicals in the dark where no will see me but they'll see what I make.. Part of me knows I'll think of you when I press the silver button. I'll blame it on your pictures and where you live. If I'm lucky, I won't say your name. It's been a hard year and I can't forget your eyes. Every time someone puts their hand to mine, I remember yours, fresh in my mind. How the tips only just overlapped yours, how my fingers were slightly longer in relation to my palm. Then I remember kisses and I have to close my eyes. I tried to put together something for you tonight, I needed a distraction, something to bring myself out of how hurt I'm living, but weariness took over, and now I'm writing this letter instead.

I'm not sure why. I think it's a survival reflex, hoping to break the silence.