there is a line to draw
between where the fun ends
and the hollow begins.

between reaching in and reaching out. reaching up
and reaching bottom.

I do not wade into shallow waters.
  I dive into the sea.

I am still.
I am still here , and I am still.
I do not move. I do not dare to.
There's far too much responsibility that comes with motion.
The pressure to  do things
and accomplish things.

No, I'd much rather stay still.

If you'll remember for a moment,
you were always the one that made me move.
That made me get up and disrupt the tranquility
and the stillness.
Now without you,
as before you,
I no longer move.

Today when I woke up
I just lied in bed.
Instead of looking reluctantly over at you
and knowing with absolute certainty that you'd have a certain number of requests for the day.

It felt strange, to do nothing.
I feel so absent in the days now.
As if I am a camera.
A video camera set up to record nothing in particular. And will capture nothing in particular.
The tape will eventually be deleted or discarded
but the record existed at some point
for no real reason than just in case.

But I am here.
I am still here
and I am still.

The flames have grown to frightening heights
Consuming all I have ever been
As they mockingly dance in revelry
Of the power I have given them

The conflagration is infinite
The fervency eternal
It was born within me
It has merely been waiting for you

As I feed this fire
with the hopes and dreams you dash
with the intoxication of the night
I burn gladly
I burn with reverence
Reverence for all that we were
and all we could have been

The flicker has turned inferno
Inextinguishable now
And I will smile
As you burn me to the ground

I've been searching for a metaphor
in your eyes
that does not reside there

Searching for the words
to express the beauty of your being
in a language not yet invented

You are the metaphor
You are the language

I've written poems
in your meter and rhythm
on the small cracks in my heart

No form
no structure
does justice

You are free of form
so I write to you in the freedom that you are
the freedom that you've given

There are things we cannot see
nor say
But in you, they are seen
In you, they are said

You are the direction faced when I pray
The prayer and what is prayed for

The question
and the answer

Pouring over every word
Searching for perfection
I've come to realize

I've been searching for a metaphor
In your eyes
The existence of which cannot be seen
In such a small and subtle beauty

You are the metaphor
It is in everything you are

You are the poetry
I've always wished to write.

I only want to let you down
And not get up and go to work
not answer my phone anymore

I don't want to respond to you're stupid questions
Just stare blankly
because I don't know what you're talking about

I only want to live here
And not be obligated to acknowledge you
With awkward smiles and furrowed brows

I want you here though
In a lesser capacity
maybe stop by for coffee

I just don't know who you are
Or what you want from me

But on and on and on this goes.