Perhaps it was only ever the idea of you ... The healed version of me no longer relates to you.. but Iam not even responding to the life saving measures its takin to survive you. Was it my cold heart an relentless mind? Or the self absorbed mental illness in me Was it the detached an distained identity in you? Or the ill intended rage in you? I wish what we had was love. I pray it is or may become.. again.. Maybe In another lifetime. We wait again, till we meet again. I've found myself putting pen to paper to many Perhaps it was only ever the idea of you ... The healed version of me no longer relates to you..but Iam not even responding to the life saving measures its takin to survive you. Was it my cold heart an relentless mind? Or the self absorbedmental illness in me? Was it the detached an distained identity in you? Or the ill intended rage in you? I wish what we had was love. I pray it is or least was or may become.. again.. I have found myself putting pen to paper to many times writing wishes into hope of finding something like it, In you... In me. With us... Theres no words to bring alive With a jaw that is wired shut

Working on a fragment about a hallway that feels longer at night. I’m trying to decide if it’s the darkness stretching it, or the way certain thoughts only grow when the lights go down.

Funny how the words only seem to flow when in the dark wondering if it will rise again. My philosophy professor said the you can never step in the same river twice. Maybe he was right, maybe I just miss the light. Maybe I'm afraid of the night, afraid of the fight. Maybe the choices we make lead to each mistake, each smile, each wake. Maybe we'll stay asleep, while we weep for the dying of the light. Funny how we're all afraid of the other, one another. We'd rather smother under held words than admit we're all human. Post the picture, happy smiles, perfect pose, Facebook prose in view of all. Words crafted, deleted and crafted again. Post for the ghosts, post for the likes. Post to avoid social heads on spikes. Cats, and snails and epic fails. All eyes on screens, ignore history's tales. Laugh, distract, happy times, ignore our failure to act. Don't assign blame, ignore the flames. Ones man's apocalypse is another man's game. Watch the pixeled heads. Voices on the screen. Listen, obey, they'll tell is what our suffering should mean. Assigning meaning to pain like Webster to words. I hope I'm a noun, not a verb. Funny how these words, random and few, burn a hole into you. Guilt for things unsaid before they were dead. Should have gone, should have stayed, should have paid. Should have prayed. Now the memories echo in the dark, while we pray to God, the sky, the Starks. So who now, then, are we? Neither indentured nor free. Flitting lives across the canyons of time? Words fit together in rhyme? Nah, we are the storm that kills the light and brings the night. These words just a shadow in the corner.

Some doors don’t close, they just wait for you to walk away first.

Welcome to Fragments. We’re truly glad you’re here. This space is yours—your headspace, your canvas, your quiet corner. Write what’s on your mind, read what others have shared, and let yourself wander through thoughts, memories, and ideas without judgment. Share freely, reflect deeply, and let the rhythm of your own words guide you. @Michael Clark @Jose Aguilera @Nathan M George