I was once in your orbit. Not a chore, a natural state of being. When I met you I was underemployed and anxious, too small and too sad for my own good. Trying my hardest to get drunk all day on attention, the type that only pretty, privileged people have time for. Wringing myself out at night to pile on black leather and take myself any place anyone would notice me, distract me from the magnetic shift of my lonesome apartment. The place where my insides got turned inside out. I was like a little alien alone in my bed, bleeding to death on the inside.
My devotion to you was suitable until it wasn’t. We could have never lived like that forever; just because it is, doesn’t mean it should be. We broke and now we’re shattered like dust hanging in the atmosphere. A chaotic little explosion like glitter from a cannon.
We might be better now or we might be worse, but at least we’re moving.