I snuggle up closer,
                      ever closer,
trying to close the centimeters 
between our bodies,
Breathing in your energy,
Let me sink into the essence of you.

Falling
              in
                    love
           with
    you
was its own intrinsic adventure,
that
        oh
            so
       typical
            whirlwind
of gathering knowledge
and settling the groundwork
for memories yet to be made.
But being,
                   ah,
being in love with you
is quite different, sir.
Falling, see, was a
                                               flash flood,
waters up to my neck
and I was drowning
in the emotion before
I could comprehend
it for what it was-
                                     love.
But being, being is a
                                             steady drizzle,
the kind that's light
and enjoyable. You sit
at the window watching
the steady stream and
listening to the tap
                    tap
             tap
and it seems it will never end.
So you go outside and
throw your arms out,
point your face up and
                  twirl
                             twirl
             twirl
with wild abandon.
Falling in love with you was
a head-spinningly exciting
experience, but being in love
with you is when I truly became
                                                          ­free.

**** I'm so scared
and I'm so in love with you
but I don't have a **** clue
how I'm supposed to trust
that what we have is the thing
gushed about in movies,
and swooned over in novels.
How the hell does anyone decide
that they know with all certainty
and perfect clarity
that that one person
is their one person,
the one meant to be?
I notice little things that irk me,
rub my nerves until they fray
and I wonder, will those
be the things that bring about
the death of us?
Or am I overreacting, overanalyzing
every single moment that passes
because I'm just so ******* scared
of what the future could possibly be.
Because ****, am I scared  
But ****, am I in love with you.
And the biggest torture
of our relationship is,
I don't know which
of those parts of me will win.
Because no matter how much
I am in love with you,
****, am I scared.

It's a bad habit I've picked up,
that when I start getting confused
about life I panic, want to run.
You see, it just seems infinitely
easier to leave it all behind,
let the chaos remain while I go
                                                              ­           somewhere
unknown and begin anew.
I've seen it time and again,
bore witness to the pattern
as my mom loaded us up and fled.
As a child I hated being forced
to pick up my entire life to go
                                                                ­            along
for a ride I never wanted.
As an adult though, I understand,
more completely than I would ever
have thought possible. And now
is one of those pivotal times
I'm stuck contemplating
                                                                ­           the way
out of the mess I've created.
I know the routine all too well:
sell all, keep only what fits
in the back of the car. All else
is extraneous, replaceable.
Drive without purpose until
                                                                ­           I've lost
all semblance of an endpoint.
Where I end up is where I go.
Some try to tell me that this
method of coping is unhealthy,
but how can I fight its allure?
When my mind becomes madness
and I can't figure my life out,
what's a better solution than
running, flight over fight,
no one to complicate things, only
                                                                ­            myself.

So I'm saying my final farewell here
     to all that I've known before
And maybe in the process I've shed
     a tear or two.
But goodbyes are never easy, you know.
Try not to be sad for me though, dear.
Because, in all honesty,
This is the most liberated I've ever been.
I'm saying goodbye to the past
     and all it stands for.
No "see ya later" here, for I never intend
     to come full circle.
This is a one-eighty, not a three-sixty
I'm turning it all around
And I'm sorry if you feel I've changed
     too drastically
But maybe the truth is you just
     never truly knew me.

I went all day without caffeine.
Nothing, not a sip.
Neither coffee nor soda.
At almost five in the afternoon
I caved.
Wrapping my hands around the cup,
feeling the warmth deep through,
I inhaled deeply,
took the aroma in,
felt it infuse itself into my being,
and I swear
in that first sip,
I found religion again.

A casual conversation turned wrong in my head
and you haven't a clue the pain you've caused.
Fun facts about ourselves is what we seek.
               Tell me five things I like
you request
and I rattle off a dozen items, categories.
                Now you,
I playfully demand.
                Five things about me. Go.
You spit out two quickly,
then stutter back to the first.
I watch, confused, as you falter.
A third stumbles out and I flinch inwardly.
Cute clothes? I ******* hate clothes.
I have no clue why you'd say that,
pick something so completely
    off
as a gift for me.
You're actually really hard to buy for
you try to reason with me.
And I'm offended.
I lay out a myriad of options quickly
that anyone with a passing knowledge
could pick up on.
Any item to do with
literature
art
crafting
cooking
would do.
How do you not know this?
I thought you knew me better than anyone?
You know that I have this weird obsession
with globes, can't resist running my fingers
over their surfaces, dreaming of traveling
all along them in reality.
And yet you make no mention of them.
Or typewriters. Or sewing machines.
My two biggest gifts I've been begging for.
And I am heartbroken.
It has nothing to do with material goods.
I thought you knew me,
and apparently you don't.
And I realize also, you couldn't
name even five things.

She looks at me and I know in that
                                     quickest
                               of
                           seconds
             something is wrong.
                                 "Mom?
                                        Mom?!"
And she
              crumples
       against my sister.
I saw the
                            confusion
       in my mom's eyes
and now I see the
                            panic
       in my sister's.
My mom, limp on the ground,
       isn't responding
       to my repeated pleas.
"She's having a stroke!
            She's having a stroke!"
Panic makes my sister's voice
                            frantic.
                   We've been here before.

All around people are crowding
       waytooclose,
but the shouts for EMS can't
              drown out the
                                          burst
of silence suddenly in my head.
My sister and I lock eyes,
                                   transported
to when this happened before,
              wondering...
                            wo­rrying...

Dear god, man
do you have any idea
what one of your winks does to me?

My heart flutters,
a butterfly freed from its cage
and I'm left breathless,
chasing after it
as it soars away.

I can catch it sometimes,
calm my breath and the beating-
but you always, always
free it all over again
as soon as you wink once more.

I           won’t be long, just have a couple things to get done.
             Resigned, I sigh as quietly as possible and put on a smile we both know
             is contrived. Sure, not a problem. I’ve seen you for maybe an hour, but
             there’s no way I’m going to let you see what I’m holding back. Why
Can’t   I be your most imperative commitment?
             *Everything I do is for you, and our future.
             How am I supposed to argue with that? I’ve tried telling you before
             that I’d much rather get time with you than trivial items. I try to
Trust   my mind, telling me that I’d rather have someone who works a lot
             Than someone who never works at all.
             But that argument is little comfort when I’m alone in bed again.
             I’ll be home at 4. Promise me. I promise. We both know it’s
A          lie, yet you let it slide easily through your mouth. It’s left hanging
             there between us right on top of I’ll take care of that for you,
             your other most common phrase. Something I used to believe,
             but now no longer waste energy on. See, that’s the
Thing, a promise is nothing without a follow through. And I’ve learned
             that your promises are without any actual value,
             counterfeit currency you try to slip past me. But after too many times
             waiting on you to prove the worth of your words, I’m defeated.
You      glance at me, leading you to momentarily postpone your departure,
             There’s something different in your eyes tonight. Is everything ok?
             Yea, I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong. And with my promise,
             the crossing of our pinkies deftly disguises everything I need to
Say.

If I called a psychic hotline,
could the disembodied voice
on the other end of the line
give me some secret to my future?

Or should I try the palm readers
so ubiquitous throughout
the seedier parts of town late at night?
Maybe they can read the clues
sketched onto my hands
and point me in the direction
of the path I'm meant to be on.

Can I find a crystal ball gazer
and have her look deep
into the swirling mists of myself?
Tell me ma'am, am I doing
anything at all right?

I suppose I'm meant to be content
wandering aimlessly along,
with no one to whisper
secrets in my ear as I go.  
But tell me ma'am,
does it drive everyone
as mad as it's driving me?

It's funny the pull one person can have.
The way they can make the world right-
     bring flight to your very soul-
Only to rip a hole through you
     in the very next breath.
I don't get it.
This whirlwind, this tornado of emotional distrust.
How did you gain such power over me?
I will gladly stand her to be showered by
     your kisses and professions of affection
     but all it takes is a split second of self-doubt
     and I'm left wondering...
Are you better off without me?
There are others, you know...
Much prettier, shinier baubles out there,
     just waiting to be picked up and admired.
I'm flawed, filled to the brim with troubles,
     not wrapped in nearly such a neat package.
Funny, it is, the way this ferris wheel works.
Just when I think I've found my comfort space,
     my safe place,
     ...whoosh...
there is goes, oh so quickly,
blinked away much too rapidly.
How does one person gather that much strength
     over my very own essence?
Funny the way that works.

Thank you
       I say quickly, out of nowhere.

For what?
      you question.

Reasons pile up so fast
in my head that they avalanche,
forming a barricade to my mouth.

For everything,
      I say simply,
      meaning so much more.

For loving me,
       I think simply,
       meaning so much more.

We're terrible at goodbyes.
It's probably what we're worst at
in our relationship.
We suddenly turn into one of those
mushy couples everyone gags around,
unable to part each other's company,
constantly returning for "just one more."
Goodbyes are the worst,
and we **** at them.
Yet every time you leave me,
I am left with the hugest grin
on my face, unable to contain myself
because someone such as you
loves me so dearly
that it's a struggle
to part ways.
So although I know
I'll miss you terribly,
and we quite simply **** at goodbyes,
I'm always left behind
in the best of moods,
filled to the brim
with my love for you.

Standing in the middle
of an Old Navy,
waiting on my boo
to finish trying on clothes.
I always feel so out of place
shopping for cute things,
like I'm just not girly enough.
I'd rather go play around
in the toy aisle.
I never was one for matching
prints and colors
and figuring out make-up patterns.
Maybe one day I'll grow up,
figure this stuff out,
but god, I hope not.

I wish I knew just how to confess
the sickness happening in my head,
but I have no clue how to start
because I honestly have no idea
how this whole mess began.

Each bite I take is precious,
a tasty present I allow myself
only once I've reached a state
of pure unavoidable hunger.
And each bite is torture,
for I know each one will come back
to haunt me, taunt me.

I walk into the bathroom,
look down at the toilet,
brush my hair off to the side,
and begin my clandestine routine.
I despise myself for this practice,
but it is nothing compared to
the repugnance I feel when
looking at myself in a mirror.
The few minutes of disgust
are worthless in relation to
the elation I feel when I see
those calories expelled from my body,
unable to be absorbed into my system,
added onto me as even more fat.

It's an up and down mind battle.
I hate myself for each action I take,
but am unable to help it. I try not to
eat, but sometimes I just get so
**** hungry I cave to my cravings,
regretting each torturous morsel
as it passes between my lips.
A trip to the bathroom, then,
and it'll all be better soon I guess.
But I'm hungry again much too soon
and the terrible circle begins anew.

I don't know how to ask for help,
am far too ashamed to admit
these disgustingly illicit deeds.
And for now I get to see
the numbers on the scale decrease.
Getting help would halt
the progress I've worked so hard for.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
I lie my head there on your chest
and find my absolute favorite place to rest.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
And I've been tested many times over in my quest for peace, but I never would have guessed I'd find it so quickly with you.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Your heartbeat is the rhythm of my universe.

He had me in the way he brushed
     his bangs from his view
And the way he made me see the world
     wholly anew.

He had me in the way he looked down
     at me and smiled shyly
So the world just melted away and my heart
     skipped away, flying.

He had me in the way his sense of humor
     was biting, sarcastic, and dark
Matching my own as we discovered
     our combined gift for snark.

He had me in the way his fingers moved
     gently over the guitar strings
And the way his voice deepened when
     he said certain special things.

He had me in the way he showed care
     in even the simplest gestures
Always going above and beyond with
     each step, every measure.

He had me in the way his laugh
     made my soul seem to dance
And how he could bring my world to a halt
     with even the quickest glance.

He had me,
     He had me,
          He had me at hello.

"Write a poem," he says,
but what if there's no use
because all the best parts of me
are already used up
and I'm just a crinkled piece of paper
left to blow away with the wind.
I'm empty, nothing left
to inscribe on my pages,
no story remaining to tell,
and so I wait for a strong gust
to come and take me away,
anywhere, just away from here,
because I can't take this place anymore.
"Write a poem," he tells me,
but what if I can't
because my voice has been
taken away from me, and
I don't see a way to transcribe
what doesn't exist. It just isn't
possible, is it? So I'll sit here
and cry this ink onto my pages,
but to be completely honest,
I'm no longer attempting to create
a coherent story because I'm just
a used up, wrinkled slip of paper,
being thrown about without concern.
"Write a poem," he says,
but my words are all used up.

You stumbled upon me
     when I was down on my knees.
Broken, I told you not to bother,
     but you knelt beside me
     and reached out a hand.
Helping me up slowly,
     you showed me your own
     bruised and ****** body.
And I knew you had been stuck
     down there before too.
So I met your eyes cautiously
     and let you guide me to my feet.

I think if you had stopped there,
     we wouldn't be here today.
But you weren't content
     with just setting me on my feet.
You gave me a step up,
     then another,
          and another,
until you had me on a pedestal
     I never wanted.
I was never meant to be
     the princess in the tower.
I can't live up to that.
Heights scare me,
     and the air suffocates up there.
So with the pressure pushing in,
     I did the only thing I could
     to free myself from the fearful view.
                                                           ­           I jumped.

"I want to go home,"
                                                                   she thinks
                                                                   while lying in her bed.
She moves through life,
                                                                   a marionette,
never actually living
anywhere outside her head.
Her mind is fully consumed
by dreams of a true home
          this
              mythological
                               place
which she's heard of
but has yet to know.
A quarter century of life
             crawls by
          before she notices.
The search for her home
         falls
               by
                  the
                    wayside,
                                                                   pushed aside.
In its place, the struggle for
mere survival.
But every night,
lying alone in her bed
as she sleepily sighs
it crosses her mind,
                                                                   "I want to go home."
Where is this "home" place
                                                                   she wonders?
Houses are not homes,
she knows this too **** well.
A thunderstorm gathers
within her soul
                                                                   until
finally, she crashes.
                                                                   "I can't take this hell."
A symbolic breakaway and
          a
           home
                    is
                     found
           suddenly,
                  quickly,
without so much as a warning sound.
It is not realized within any dwelling,
but a much simpler place:
            the fit beneath a chin,
            arms she's encircled within.
                                                                   "Home."
It takes on a higher meaning,
a more profound definition.
And there is simply
               no way, no way
she could have known,
had any premonition of the
                                                                   home
that would so easily grow
between their two souls
and make her, for once,
                                                                   at last,
                                                                   feel whole.
            "Sir, I feel at home with you,"
                        she sighs.
            "You are," he replies.
And she knows
                                                                   it's true.

I don't know much of anything about life or love or the grand "meaning of it all," but this I know: I hate the constraints society places upon us, ropes gathered up to knot relationships, tie them up and place them all in nice neat little packages with a cute presentable bow on top. We're supposedly in the "honeymoon phase" right now and we joke about how we'll know when it's done, when the real stuff has begun. But sir, the way I've spread my scars open, reopened all those old wounds for you to discover, evaluate, and assess, I refuse to believe none of this is the "real" stuff. Sure, maybe one day we'll have an actual, honest-to-goodness argument where our mouths become cannons for the shots we volley back and forth. But I can't believe, stubbornly refuse to even consider there will be a day I'll look into those emerald eyes of yours and not fall utterly in love all over again. I can't imagine a morning of waking up and not being grateful to have you next to me. Maybe love isn't constant perfection, and there's no way that every single day will be a dreamland fantasy, but maybe, just maybe when you've found a forever kind of love there isn't a "honeymoon period" at all. Maybe it just is, and that's enough.

You should be here
waiting for me in bed
when I get home, sir.
Just an idea.

Do you have any clue
how hard it is for me
to focus at work
with my ******* slick
from thoughts of you?

It's hard to act calm
and professional
when I'm thinking
of you entering me
from behind, pushing
into me as you pull
my hair and own me.

Nobody at work knows
that when I smile it's not
to be polite, but because
of the secret dirtiness
I keep covered inside
that none of them
would ever guess.

It's only because I am
thinking of you,
contemplating licking
those secret places
only I know of, that I can
make it through the day.

You should be here
waiting for me in bed
when I get home, sir.
Just an idea.

I'm tired of feeling, bring back the
      numbness.
I'm fine, I promise.
Where do I put all these feelings when
     they overload my brain?
I've become one of those roadside
     ditches meant to catch the overflow
     of rain, except I'm flooded over.
I'm not okay.
I know how to seize control again
     though, with a stroke here and a
     stroke there.
I'm fine, I swear.
Don't worry baby, I've got this nifty
     little way of coping,
     it makes it all better.
I'm fine.  I'm fine.
I'm not okay.

I'm not that girl,
the one your parents warned you about,
the one that lets secret promises slip between my lips as I make you sigh in ecstasy
only to have you realize every word said while I was between your thighs was a lie, intended only to provoke reaction at the moment.

I'm not that girl,
the one your friends warned you about,
the one that lets a secret wink fly at them as I hold your hand tight,
determined to keep you close
until the moment you aren't enough,
not that you ever know you aren't my one and only.

I'm that girl,
the one you don't think exists,
the one that wants to wake up extra early
for the sole purpose of rolling over
to settle a gentle kiss upon your lips,
then stretch and rise to prepare
a breakfast for you.

I'm that girl,
the one that wants to you surprise desserts just because,
so I'm not the only sweet thing you have
to come home to.

I'm not the girl that will break your heart, lie to you, or cheat on you.
I'm the girl that will stand by you, no matter what, because I want to be the one you lean on in times of need.
I don't want to cause you pain, I want to help fix your struggles.

I'm not that girl, the one all the guys lust after.
I want to be the girl you fall in love with.

I'm trying to navigate through life,
but the roads are iced over
and this vehicle wasn't built
for the treachery of snowy slopes.
My tires turn at odd angles,
oscillating wildly in their attempt
to catch some semblance of traction.
But the snow bank is getting closer
and no matter how I twist the wheel
I can't seem to steer away from
what seems to be impending impact.

"I love you,"
I say, speaking those inadequate words out loud
only to watch them fall to the ground, useless at expressing how I truly feel about you.
You say you love me back, but I want to say
"No, you don't fully comprehend my meaning."
It's not just love.

It's wriggling up against you to close nonexistent space, forever trying to get closer, wanting to prolong moments into eternity, because being enveloped within your arms makes me feel safer than I ever thought possible.

It's reading a book about losing one's forever love in a car accident and consequently nagging you to start wearing your seatbelt and stop using your phone so much. I hate feeling like the nagging girlfriend, but god, I don't know how I'd go on without you, and no horror novel has ever scared me so much as that book did.

"I love you,"
I say, feeling the letters crumble under the weight I place upon them.

****.
I hate knowing,
    KNOWING
ways to make it all better
and being simultaneously
unable to take advantage
of those socially unacceptable
escapes of mine.
I have to just be here,
plaster on
my societal face
and it's all so ******* fake.
So fake.
All I want to do is give in
to the ever-taunting whims
that are begging,
pleading for release.
It's a dangerous game,
one I know I can't afford to lose
but ****
is it fun while I'm playing
with my deadly vices.
****,
how hard it is
to say no sometimes.

Have you ever met a stranger
       and known them instantly?
Because baby,
       that's how I feel about you.
That serendipitous meeting
       was actually a long time coming,
       dear.
Because baby,
       I think our souls danced
       many times before our eyes
       chanced upon one another.
Escaping away
     to take solar strolls
         and traipse along the moon,
                   dancing within the stars
                                                     together.
And baby,
       our fortuitous discovery
       of each other wasn't chance at all,
but the opportunity for our souls
       to rejoice in puerile glee
       knowing their person had finally
       found their soul's one true match.

I dreamt of her again last night.
                              Time heals all wounds.
It's been a while since I've relived
her in my sleep so I guess that's
partially true. But only partially,
because the shattering of my heart has
yet to lessen with each awakening.
                              This year makes five.
Five years later and I'm still trying
to learn how to live without her.
Who do you confide in when the one
you ran to is the person taken so
suddenly from you? In my dreams
she comes alive once more. Not a mere
memory, but a smiling, laughing,
breathing being. I get to experience
her presence for just a few precious
moments. Upon waking I'm smiling,
having just spent time with my best
and closest friend. For about five
seconds the illusion remains before
it crashes down around me, and
I'm left looking at the shards remaining.
The more desperately I try to pick
them up, the deeper I am cut.  
                               It hit me like a ton of bricks.
This saying at least, holds true.
It's a cruel reality having to relive
that moment you learn of your loss.
So I'm left to myself, curled up and
clutching my chest from the pain of
losing her all over again, crying heavy
sobs from the depths of my soul.
When it's over and I've been able to
compose myself, carefully replace all
of my pieces, I'm able to be thankful.
The pain is terrible, yes, but something
I've lived with for years. It never
lessens, we just become better at
bearing it. But to have those few
moments of living with her again,
even if only in my dream world, well,
anyone who has ever lost someone
will tell you that they would give
just about anything for the chance
to see the persons face again.
                              *The pain is worth pleasure.

We have that easy, lazy kind of love.
That sleep in late and wake up gently
     to morning kisses kind of love.
A love so simple and genuine
there's no effort involved at all, really.
                        It just is.
I knew from the very start
we were something special, baby,
when your slow smile reached out
to take hold of my heart,
no trying needed.
                       And we just were.
And now, now baby,
we have that beautiful love,
     that lazy kind of love.
And it's sitting together for
     a cup of morning coffee,
And little reminders of affection
     left for surprise.
It's the slow breath in
     after the content sigh
     following a deep kiss in the rain.
And never wanting to leave,
     always returning for
     just one more.
We have that easy love,
     the carefree kind of love.
                      And it just is.

Loving you is easy, it took no effort at
     all
I loved you instantly, no choice in my
     fall.
The thing is, though, I feel I can only
     hope to be
the person you inexplicably see within
      me.
So you're teaching me to love myself,
     day by day.
And I'm learning that patience is the
     only way,
for complete acceptance of my own
     flaws may be slow
But true self-love is worth each ebb
     and every flow.

I want to run my fingers through your hair, swirl my tongue around the lobe of your ear in just the right way so that I know it will drive you the best kind of crazy.

I wish to wake up early, throw on one of your oversized shirts, and cook you breakfast. Each time I reach for something high up you'll see my secrets that you alone know, and I get to start your day off right, well fed in every meaning of the word.

Let me be the person you come home to, the person you reveal every secret wish and desire to, so that I may be the one to help you make them become real life.

I'd like to be there to gently kiss away all of your teardrops, and talk you through all moments of weakness and self-doubt, reminding how simply extraordinary you are.

I will devote my entire being to bringing you happiness in every aspect of your life.

"Don't go," I beg yet again.
"Do you want me to stay?" you ask, and I'm really quite confused as to how you aren't seeing that every single action of mine is pleading with you to stay with me tonight. I need you, need you to show me you love me in the most nonphysical and physical ways both, and at the same time I need you to understand all of that without me having to come right out and ask for it. I'm not trying to play mind games. Not at all. I need you, need you in the purest, rawest sense of the word. Yet no matter how many signals I put out they all slip past you. And after you leave, I lie there and cry to myself. Completely alone.

I've lost all semblance of myself,
an island that I unwillingly left behind.
Stepping gingerly at first
to test the water upon my toes,
venturing further as I grew bolder,
only to turn around
and find the shore gone,
all sight of land lost.
Now I'm stuck, treading,
tiring quickly.
And I've no idea which direction
I'm supposed to swim
to find myself again.

.                          To seek                  out love
                       is a letdown         in the making.
                    They feed your     heart with all the
                false words, but the moment you try to  
             grasp on to that love it turns out they were
           just using an accumulation of sounds that do
          nothing but disguise their lust.  For that's all it
             is underneath. Peel back the proclamations
                of love and adoration, seek out the truth,
                      the purpose of the utterances, and
                          maybe you'll be able to peek a
                             glimpse at the truth within.
                                They say they love you,
                                     *******, they just
                                        want to ****
                                               you.

I'm unsure of how to persevere
in this role I'm supposed to
be pretending I was given.
And I fear that I'm continually
mistaken for my mask
when all that lies beneath
is treachery and deceit.
Yet you are fooled over and again
while I am left with the slimy remnants
after I've sent out the venom.
Tell me, is there truly such a thing
as a good-hearted executioner,
or am I only attempting
to fool myself as well?

The melody of your voice
no longer holds appeal,
bringing only disappointment
in the things left unsaid.
As for subjects mentioned,
your promises mean nothing
and the words you speak
are mere sounds that hold
no value to me anymore.
They are all too devoid
of the trust I was mistaken
in putting in you before.

Metamorphosis
I feel a churning within
This change is coming...

There's a beast inside my head
throwing his fists against my brain
and with every breath I take
in, out,
I feel as if I'm riding upon
the crest of a wave
up, down,
a terrible journey
I never intended to take.

But enveloped within
your arms so tightly,
your chin resting on my head
oh so lightly,
I find myself within a cocoon
of safety, comfort.

You leave far too soon,
and I wish I could keep you
here with me at all times.
But even after you've gone
I dream of you,
and when I wake
you're the first thought
that flutters into my mind.
And I am calmed.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" you inquire.
I shrug and shake my head, trying to make the question slip-slide its way past me.
"Something. I can tell," you **** on.
I don't exactly know how to explain the hodgepodge of thoughts bustling around up there.

How all of the mismatched puzzle pieces sometimes inexplicably manage to assemble themselves into a picture, but it always comes out distorted.

How my mind is eternal dusk, that magical moment where anything is possible and the night is full of promise. But remember, that's also when the monsters come out to play.

How I have this uncanny ability to skew every word, look, or memory until every one of them is so tainted I will burn us alive while you wonder what the hell is going on.  I'm good at sabotage, you see.

You don't want to know what's going on in this head of mine.  You can try to connect the dots, but none of them are numbered, and you'll lose yourself attempting to understand me.

I'm
         nowhere near perfect, and neither
         are you. You're quite a bit
         ridiculous, not usually serious,
         and addicted to your phone. I'm
         clumsy, unsure of myself to a
         fault, and my moods move faster
         than the minute hand on a clock.
         We're both a bit messy and goofy
         and ignorant of the weirdest
         things (like funnel cakes and the
         complicated workings of window
         blinds) but while we're on this
         ride with each other,
in
         this whole screamer of a carnival
         ride together, it works. You even
         out my moods and I'll force your
         attention to the real world and
         we'll help clean up the mess that
         we each have become over the
         years. You inspire me to be brave
         and we're seeing the world anew.
         In falling in
love
         with each other we fell in love
         with the very concept of life. A
         subtle change that made all the
         difference. I know nothing of
         what souls are made of, or indeed
         if they are truly even real. I've
         also never been a believer in
         soulmates, destiny, fate, or
         whatever you want to call it. I
         still don't know what I believe,
         but I know that when I'm
with
         you, sir, I believe in us. Our long
         serious talks, goofing off so that
         I'm laughing until I can't breathe,
         the way you look at me and I'm
         more sure of your love than the
         very fact that the sun will rise
         again tomorrow. I'd stay with you
         forever for these prize jewels, no
         matter what the rest of our lives
         hold. We're messy and imperfect,
         but to me
our
         journey together is the greatest
         novel ever written. I love that
         we're sharing so many firsts-not
         just in our relationship, but in our
         lives. Exploring the world with
         you is my all-time favorite
         adventure. I could never have
         imagined how quickly I would
         fall for you, but I'm never
         looking back. We fit together so
         exquisitely, cut from the same
         pattern, and I know that this is
         the kind of
love
         that is searched for, written about,
         and that makes hearts ache with
         longing. We've been lucky
         enough to find it, and I can tell
         because when we kiss,
         I taste forever on your lips.

Two pieces in the entirety of the world
     exist as separate parts of a single soul.
Together each portion that we are
     brings a clarity previously grasped for.
I taste you in the very air around me,
Sense your presence as it crowds mine,
And though we must eventually part,
know that we,
     the two moieties,
     exist in one rhythm.

I threw our old pictures away today,
     and cried as I did it.
I had held on for a bit,
     not knowing exactly how to
     proceed.
I knew I didn't really want to keep them,
     but our end wasn't drastic enough
     for a burning.
But today, today I finally threw them away.
And I have no clue why,
     but it's tearing me up inside.
And I have another confession while I'm at it.
The other day, when I came by
     to pick up the last of my stuff?
You were teary-eyed and I tried my hardest
     to remain hard-hearted,
     and we talked it out a little.
You said you miss me still
     and I felt like a *******
     because I replied only, "I'm sorry."
I didn't want to tell you I miss you too,
     didn't want to lie to you.
But then, as I was leaving,
     you shut the door behind me,
     and I remembered I wanted
     to remind you
     about taking me off the lease.
I turned and opened the door,
     and I saw you finally releasing
     what you had been struggling
     to hold back in my presence.
You were walking towards your room,
     sobbing.
And I witnessed that moment
     when it wasn't meant for me.
The sound of your cries
     and the shaking of your shoulders
     has haunted me since,
     an unwanted movie stuck on repeat.
And I walked away.
And I threw our old pictures out today.
And maybe I actually was meant to see
     that moment of unbridled agony,
     so that I too could feel some of your misery.
Because you loved me,
Still love me,
and I destroyed you.