Some nights,
the world tilts in our favor.

We laugh until our ribs ache,
and I think maybe— just maybe—
we could be infinite.

But the morning comes with a sharper edge.
Words split the air like glass.
I can’t remember what started it,
and neither can you,
and suddenly the warmth is gone,
leaving cold in its place.

I want to touch you,
to reach across the distance,
but the distance has grown teeth.
Even our silences bite.

I loved the sparks— the moments we shone.
But they’re fireflies in a storm:
bright, small, fleeting.

And I am learning
to watch them fade
without trying to catch them.

We will never get along.
And I am accepting it—
accepting the cracks,
the chaos,
the way it always ends.

I let go
even as I remember
the nights we laughed until we cried.

---

𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤

Pretty words for ugly things.

• Buried Correspondence
• Poetry
• Stories

---