脱臼

有些爱，不是断裂，而是错位。明明还连着，却再也回不到正确的位置。

我们在一张餐桌前坐下，像两个假装没事的人，轮流把前任的痕迹端上来——衣服、钥匙、卡片还有那些说不出口的伤。

拥抱是借位的，占有是错位的，每一次靠近，都像把早就脱臼的心，再拉扯一次。

我们学会用痛止痛，用寂寞冰敷寂寞。不是不知道会复发，只是没人真的想痊愈。

到最后，不是不会痛了，只是越来越习惯忍痛。

Some love doesn’t break, it slips out of place.

Still attached, just never aligned again.

We sit across a table, two strangers pretending we’re fine, taking turns laying our exes between us.

Clothes, keys, notes, and the injuries we never learned how to name.

Every hug is borrowed.

Every claim is misplaced.

Every step closer, pulls the joint apart all over again.

We numb pain with pain, ice loneliness with more loneliness.

We know it’ll relapse.

We just don’t believe in healing anymore.

In the end, it’s not that it hurts less

We’re simply better at enduring it.