Like every mislead person
in this world
I thought you made me happy
Or maybe you really did
I still remember that pure squeal that seemed to erupt
in me
the kind that you get
when on gigantic, overwhelming rides
in amusement parks
No, nothing else could explain
that internal squeal
not the dried fries
not the hostile hum of air-conditioning
Just you
despite how your chair
angled away from me
despite how busy you were
sipping your cola
making small talk to our friends
to notice my elbows skirt towards you
despite how much
how many times
I tried to deny to myself
that it was always you
Always.

There’s a sweet resonance to your fantastical idea to fly, to breach known heights, to swing amongst clouds like birds set free from cages, like the world is now anti-gravity.

It resonates with my idea to love

wholly

selflessly

without expecting to be loved back

this is a pile of bull-****, my love

Because we,

We are meant to fall

I have a tattoo of you in my heart.
And I know I've said that a lot.
Over and over,
till my tongue felt like a whip against the roof of my mouth
and every time I touched it to form
Words
Sentences
. . feelings,
I was too scared of the repercussions.
So,
I hold the words to myself,
paint my lips bright red,
hold my hands against my chest
and let the wind speak for me.