The truth is that sometimes even my organs ache; even the bones — even the teeth.
There are certain shades of blue that can never be scrubbed out. When the winter lasts too long, or the river rushes, or the road ends suddenly. I cannot help the bits of me that are still childish — that still believe I can disappear if I shut my eyes tightly enough.
But nothing stops.
There is no such thing as regret, not in the way I wish there was. So many people are their own centers. I feel like a loose planet unsure of how to orbit; always spinning away. I cannot pretend I have never wished for a collapse. For the sun to blink out like a candle burned too long.
But nothing goes away.
It all endures.