blacking out the friction

i sift through your pages to hear my voice. my fingers tattered, littered with cuts, incisions due to the incessant hopes of being something more than an afterthought. i can’t help but think that this right will never be enough to measure against any of our potential wrongs. that our choices will never bring us back here. and though i am rarely one to regret, i am beginning to reevaluate that notion. reevaluate how to sever synapses, cement together walls to make this justification fit along the rift we will begin build. i guess it shouldn’t matter anymore, especially when you can’t change what is.