Imperfect

I wish it would've worked

As I get older. The nights get colder. Maybe it’s best we don’t speak at all. Alone again, to make amends with my own imperfections. With my own interventions, with my own two hands, I caused these imperfections which I cannot control. Maybe it’s best I leave you alone. Carry on with your perfections, for they shall never grace my lips again as the warmth shall never grace my nights. Maybe it’s best we both carry on. Getting older. Getting colder. Getting farther from my amends with my own imperfections which I wish I could control. Maybe it’s best that i’m alone.