karkaroff:

Actors are pretty liars, I say as I paint my lips and get into costume, and that is why I’ve been lying to you this whole time.

Even though I never told you that except in my mind, because I am still a liar.

Untruths untangle themselves from the mess of my mind and create a barricade to my heart, and you shattered it through like a clean stroke from a lightsaber. The swift slice of your silence as you didn’t call, didn’t text, and I forgot to pick up the phone. Haven’t we always been like this? Haven’t our eyes, blue with brutality, always shattered each other’s souls?

But we are art, and art makes you feel something. And that is why words are still dripping from my pen even when our relationship has lost blood like a pen loses ink. Losing, losing, lost.

In my mind, you are probably both meaner and kinder than you really are. You say you like my singing voice, over and over, a broken record, as sleep slips from my fingertips. Your shoulder is where my head goes when the thoughts inside it are too heavy to hold without support, your laughter light when the day ends in darkness and I need to see.

The truth is that you are human, and you burn cold like the stars while your fingers burn hot from drawing, sketching mango-shaped heads and dazzling eyes that are too pretty to be human.

(like you, that one time the classroom lights were dim and you was a galaxy and I felt something like the possibility of a kiss for less than a second)

But I am an actor. I live in untruths and pretty lies, and the fact that you might miss me is nothing more than closed curtains before a show begins. I see nothing but a lie, and I see nothing but your eyes when I miss you and your warm arms around my shoulder in the shape of friendship.

I am an actor, and I keep playing this role in my mind long after the show has closed.

– i don’t want to miss you II @bookwrms