I open my window
and let strangers' breath flow through the screen
just hoping your exhale would be carried
from miles away through my window and onto my neck.
But I already know,
I'm going to be cold in the morning.

I leave my door open
so I can watch the shadows on the wall across the hallway
smear back and forth past my room,
just hoping your silhouette would walk into my doorway
But I already know,
the door will be closed in the morning.

I turn my music on
to drown out the quiet
to block the sound of plastic wheels on the pavement of the late-night-skateboarder
to slur the punctual tick of the clock
to wipe away the sounds of tears upon my cheeks.
But I already know,
the same sad song will be repeating in the morning.

I turn out my light
and pale in the absence,
hoping that when the sun rises in the morning
and its blinding blaze slips through the slits of the curtains
that your smile with be the brightest thing I see.
But I already know,
you wont be here to have your back turned to me.

I pull up my blankets
all the way up to my chin and past my forehead
baking myself in the smells of the sheets
trying to find the scent of you left in my fuzzy blanket from the night in the field.
But I already know,
I lost that months ago.

But I also know,
that I haven't lost you yet.

And I don't plan on it.

It's not the way you are, dear.
It's the way my emotions reach their peak at 2 a.m.
when I'm alone with my blank canvas and endless list of fears
and you're going on the adventure I so desperately want to join you on.

It's the way my cobwebbed thoughts and overzealous daydreams intertwine
like my collarbones ache to be danced on,
while you're being the kind of free I've written about for years
and shedding your past of broken promises and disappointments.

It's the way I constantly grasp for a firm hold on a spark,
any kind of sweet nothings or a flick of an eye that tells me you want this
as bad as I do.
You're terrified of the future and I'm terrified of my past.

There's galaxies between our faults but inches between our lips
for a weekend, and it's the happy ending I crave
but it's only salt on my wounds when you have to pack your bag
with work clothes and every stumbled over "I love you."

This X marks the spot of where I used to feel okay
and your birth mark has lipstick stains from my rituals of
fixing this but they're fading every day I don't get to
bury my face in your sweatshirt and wrap myself in you.

This is my failed attempt at getting used to being attached but alone
At being at my most vulnerable state
And being in love with someone who will never understand.

Tell me, then, why isn't this working if opposites attract?

I laughed in the rain today.

I saw that I was free
to laugh or cry
to smile or frown
to walk or run
to sleep or dream

Free from sorrow
free from pain
free from you.

I laughed in the rain today.

laying in my bed it's 4:27 
in the morning
my window is propped open washing me with waves of heat and sound
the birds chirping, don't they know the time?
i feel itchy all over i think i'm covered in bugs
how ridiculous it is yet in the morning my skin is raw and scabbed
battle wounds
i begin to drift off at last, allowing myself to slip into sweet nothingness
nothingness indeed
i'm floating between realities; the reality in which i'm itchy with bloodshot eyes and the reality with you
just as i finally reach my sanctuary my paradise my peace, 
just as your hand is practically tangibly intertwined with mine,
the birds are no longer chirping
screaming
they are screaming and rip me from you
mental whiplash
and though i curse them for sending you away
i know i must thank them for saving me the exquisitely delicate pain of the unrequited passion i would be welcomed by
come dawn

We stargazed.
I pointed out constellations,
You watched in awe
at the wonders of the heavens
and the secrets that they kept
Then I said,
That what's above us,
Isn't nearly as wonderful as you.

tongue-tied butterflies, the tickling flutter inside
but it’s not the good kind,
it’s the sucker-punch kind that makes you nauseous and want to stay in bed
all day
looking out your window until your heavy hulk eyelids snap shut
and you dream of the fantasy
where you are not this wretched, evil or confused and
everything makes sense there

all you do is dance with one person underneath the leaf-canopy of a sycamore tree

you kiss and your bellies rumble with laughter, for each other, with each other

and when the other scurries off to do their own thing, you are alone,
but you’re alright
because you’ve seen what you look like in the mirror, and you’ve never been so pleased with yourself

the meaning of love in this faerie land forest is to simply, be, as you are
with nothing but yourself
nothing but your hands,
nothing but your eyes
nothing but your heart

it’s the sparking connection, touching someone else, and seeing their lips curl into the most vivacious grin

it makes love special but it doesn’t make love, for you already are such, regardless of another’s breath

I awaken at the sound of chirping birds, my window still glowing of
shady sunlight
tongue-tied butterflies, the tickling flutter inside
but it’s not the good kind, it’s the sucker-punch kind that makes you sick,
waking you up
to reality