I know you like the back of our hands; I have you saved in the spaces between our fingers and have read your fortune in the lines of our palms. I know your transparent gestures and have found your eyes in my mirror, vacant only because our thoughts have built the cities we’ve been longing for. You sync the rise and fall of our chests and I’ve found your mind wrapped around mine, trapping us in the dark. Together we understand the current, wading through the fabric of space time. We have discovered us once again.

Optimism: I’m in love. Pessimism: I’m dying. Realism: We all are. It’s hard to say goodbye with chapped lips and clumsy words, but empty pockets feel better when they’ve spent more time capturing your body heat than bits of metal and paper. —I didn’t look at the cup long enough to know if it was half empty or half full because it was dropped before I could reach the sink. Now it’s just a bunch of shattered glass beneath bare feet in the middle of winter. My hands had become so numb just before they touched warm water for the first time since the chill and it was a surprising sensation —an unexpected pain as I started to feel again; you feared frostbite but I only thought about the painful walk home.