Burning Bridges

What I want most is for these old songs to remind me of someone else.

For the scars on my hands to bring back memories of when I wasn’t fighting for your attention.

I wish the blood that burns in my face would be still when you’re around.

That my knees would buckle less when you catch my eye before casting it aside.

I want to break free from the cord that tightens round my chest every time you walk away.

I wish I could dream a little less and live a little more.

I want these old songs to stop dredging memories of you from the river’s depths.

That’s why I burned the bridge.

Because I’m worth more than the compounding list of could-have-beens dissolving into never-weres.

They fall like ashen snowflakes all around as the bridge is violently consumed.

I just wish these old songs would stop reminding me of you.


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