SONYA ESMANのインスタグラム(sonyaesman) - 10月12日 07時16分

So I ask her about love and she tells me about the bits of us that we give away. You’ll never get them back. When you’re this empty you’ll try anything to cover up the void. So I ask her about her favorite color and if it has anything to do with passion. We feel more pain than we’d care to mention– so we draw, paint and write just to have a little more self-expression. So I ask her if she hands away so much of herself, who is she by the time it’s all over? You don’t really know someone until they walk away. You don’t really love someone until it’s too late. You don’t know a damn thing until it’s all said and done. So I ask about her smile. Are you happy when we’re talking? Do you enjoy this as much as I do? So I ask if she does late afternoon runs to run from herself or to find something. Do you chase ghosts too? Inside those halls, you’re trapped in photographs. Inside that soul, you’ve burnt the whole house down. Inside that heart, you’re still looking for love. So I ask about us and if she sees hope. She points to the smile that they used to love. She points to the scars and sketches a constellation of promises on my skin. So I ask if she’s a sucker for love poems and honesty. So I ask if she’s ever been hurt before. What do you do when it’s just you? Does the anxiety rip you inside out? You can write until you’re all out of words. You can love until your heart is a grain of sand. You can be angry until your fist bruises the night. So I ask her about love and if it’s ever worth it. Do you really see us together? Isn’t it weird? Two strangers. Before meeting– you didn’t exist to one another. Now? You’re routine. Now? You choose to stay. I can ask if she really means it all. I can ask if she believes me. I’m always in my head picking myself apart. I’m always in my heart sorting out feelings. The complexity of something as simple as saying I love you to someone bothers everyone who stays up really fucking late. We all have a past that won’t sleep. We all have a present worth living. The future? I don’t know if it holds us, but I’m here until the last page.

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