who do you love, marianas trench / stick season, noah kahan / hum hallelujah, fall out boy
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home is the first grave // until i gather the strenth to drag my bones out the front door my soul will haunt these shadowed halls. the kitchen echos of angrily washed dishes and silent mornings, the living room reverberates arguments past and loud screams. the room is filled with quiet sobs and repeated whispers, just once more then you’ll be done, just hold on once more. but it’s once more in the same way that soon will never be here and then is never now.
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i remember things. that's what i do.
no let me try again. i have never been able to remember birthdays or anniversaries or the day of the week or addresses.
however, i will ingrain your favourite colour in my mind, know how to make your favourite food by muscle memory alone, pick your favourite flowers out of habit, differentiate between your tone of voice over the phone, and remember every childhood pet you ever loved. i will remember, understand, know, every inch of your being if you let me.
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You May Visit the Cosmos but You May Not Speak of It (or on the Tackiness of Elegy)., Ken Chen
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The agony and relief of being able to remember
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