a blanket of clouds

Losing yourself means you have something to lose.

That's better than the alternative.

I'd rather be bursting at the seams with loss,

if it meant I had something, anything, to give.

I couldn't stand to be like him,

empty, shallow, in a constant state of drought.

Those hands are not the hands I thought they were.

Those hands,

do not touch.

They take.

They grab.

But they don't tingle.

I'd rather cry for days upon days,

than to sit staring at a wall, without blinking.

Not dreaming, only spacing.

Filling your precious time with nothingness.

To cherish oneself is the greatest gift.

Because to lose oneself would be complete and total destruction.

Love is ultimately nourishing.

It is what gives us life.

Without,

we are nothing.

One cannot disappear, unless one ceases to love oneself.

I'll lend you my light.