fakespoetry:

time, like many other things, is fractured. he tries to hold onto the two languages he knows, as if the back and forth of mixing up his words can make up for all of this running out. sand, golden and familiar, slips through his fingers as easily as his lover’s hand did the day they died, and it’s all running out. as if god gave it a curfew and it’s going to make it on time, but it’s going to take him and everything he loves with it. mostly, he imagines walls not having clocks and bodies not aging with the days and people not having birthdays or anniversaries to celebrate. if he closes his eyes, the world stands still, the timers freeze, his lover doesn’t die on impact.

time, like many other things, is fractured. like his heart, like his voice split down the middle as he screamed his throat raw, like his bruised body always trying to make it just one more day. time has no business doing this- being this. everything humans invent becomes cruel, there is no hesitance to that business. only sorrow that it had to be like this and now it cannot stop. for all these hours he has learnt to ignore, he sits in the celebration of sunset and wonders if these things will ever be gentler. if he closes his eyes, the sun still sets, the birds go home the same time they do most evenings, his lover doesn’t have the time to say goodbye.

time is fractured, is unforgivable and unforgettable, and will give you the seconds you need to die because it already gave you years to live. gavin spends his short life missing everything he never did right, and trying to forgive out with failing hands what to do with all these broken hours.

– symptoms.