And I knew in that moment, you were to me as the moon to the wolf: infinite in beauty, but impossibly far. And for this I cry.

Words poured forth from your mouth and I struggled to catch them in my hand,

but alas! They slipped through my fingers like so many grains of sand.

A tender touch down your spine,
Unfold your delicate rib cage,
The ink that is your blood,
The stories you hold
Pulsing beneath the title that is your skin.

I don't feel like myself. Now that is a contradiction in itself, for who I am is different than who I was and who I was is different from before.
I was
am and
will be
constantly changing, so who is to say that me not feeling like myself now is not just me becoming who I will be next? What should be said is I don't feel like who I want to be.
Because this transformation was an unwanted arrival. I never asked to be put into this chrysalis. Even now I am shouting from the inside for someone to let me out.
This is not what I wanted.
This is not what I want.
This is not what I will ever want.

I don’t want to be this new me.