I came in to write tonight, but it’s just not coming out right. Feelings and memories lacking in their transposition to words. The swelling fades, but this is permanent. I partly blame myself for it all, grasping reasons out of the ether, something to try to make sense of. I want a hand that is as steady as my heart, but honesty is a siren, a serpent in disguise. The sweetest disposition chilled by a gentle touch. As the empty hallways echo with empty words that once meant so much. We only run from what makes us uncomfortable, as your footsteps echo into black…