elmo speaking
para kapag pumalaot ka, makikita pa rin kita.
It was on the fourth of July when I finally realized that the red ooze was not blood.
It was the red of roses.
It was the red of your hate.
It was the hate of your longing,
that just saw no end.
It was the next day that you bled most.
It was the bleeding that killed you.
- Not the wound, nor the pain (you said it didn’t hurt).
It was the losing, and the humbling,
that gave you away.
