(inspired by my terrible headache — i yearn to sleep this off so badly)
i.
the sadness is so acute: i never knew feelings could retaliate in the form of physical ache — the back of my throat hurts and so does my head and my heart and every part of me that you looked at and every part of me that you didn't.
ii.
i think it normal because i do not (cannot) expect anything — that is how my life works. i am not built with a heart that beats in synchrony with someone else's orchestra or built for the turpentine stench of the streetlamps that lights a path that fits two. i am beautifully crafted but my palms are flat; the lack of curvature proving that other hands are never meant to slip into my own.
iii.
this will be true in all ways, always. nothing has ever proven to me otherwise.