That idea was shot down.
That bullet was shot in my heart.
You shot me out of the sky.
The idea of you and I was the idea you shot down, repeatedly. I tried to shoot it down too, but you took my gun. You stole my ability to shoot it down with your charm, your smile, your smell. I breathed it in and lost control. And you knew. You knew the effect you had, the power that you held. And you abused it.
The way you shot us down was like a bullet shot in my heart. Clean wound, but hard to mend. What with your knowledge of my flare for the dramatics I hope you saw that simile coming.
When your bullet pierced me I fell. I fell long, fast, hard, the sky suddenly slipping, intent on banishing me from it's vast beauty. Down, down, down. The ground didn't welcome me with open arms, my landing pad rocky and damaging, like you had planned out exactly where I'd fall.
So thanks for the trip, I hope you got to see it through your closed eyes.
--P.A.
"You stole my ability to shoot it down with your charm, your smile, your smell." I love it. that is exactly what love does to us. It takes away anything we have and it leave us wanting and wanting.
ReplyDelete"But you took my gun"
ReplyDeleteBut you took my gun.... I want you to know that I have been thinking about that sentence for 7 minutes. It makes me mad. THAT'S MY GUN! Goodbye agency.
Basically... Yes. This is good.