He told me he loved me yesterday
blurted it out while we walked through the trees
the love came with a but, though, of course,
  can you expect anything less?
  Does love ever come without stipulations?
He said he'll love me only if I'd tattoo his name on my arm for all to see
that makes sense, doesn't it?
Why wouldn't I show the world that this amazing man loves me...
       but it bothers me a little bit
               a lot
       I wish he'd just believe me, forget the rest and concentrate on what  
       I'm telling him
            showing him--
       because my words and actions should be enough to know I love you,
       a tattoo would do none of that,
            except cause me pain and scar my skin,
he's so beautiful and pure-hearted
                 it makes me sick--
it makes me want to be a better person,
       I wish I was a better person,
       he's been through such little heart-break so few challenges
         only those that he's presented himself for sport
he's such a good person
       I feel *****, tainted--
            full of wisdom and thoughtfulness--
       wishing less has happened in my life
            knowing that this is how I'm meant to be
       but also wishing he'd understand that I am beyond our years
       I see the future so clearly
        and I see him in it. But he doesn't seem to realize what an honor that is
           and the only reason why I know doubtlessly that it's an honor
           is because of all my wisdom.
           It's a double-edged sword that I'm proud to wear,
                                       not like a tattoo.

I like the way your hair sparkles, she said,
it looks like little diamonds are flying off of it.
I looked her in the eyes and thanked her for her unnecessary kindness,
but I know that you know that each of those sparkles is a reflection of a tear,

The feelings hang off my head for all to see.

I'm too busy falling down the well to hear you yell to me
all I hear is the rushing sound of wind by my ears and the sloshing water only inches below me
it continues to be only inches away even though I've been falling for hours
or days
is there really a difference between those two times?
I think about the amount of hours in a day as the wind finally carries the sound of your voice to me
it cuts through the air waves, shattering them into pieces that cut my skin like shards of glass
My body reaches the bottom of the well and falls through the water and lands softly on the pavement
My vision spins and I stand up carefully in this dark alley
the sound of anger and the smell of death and the taste of fear all rush to me at once,
I watch as cars and people zoom by, unaware of this alley's existence.
I think about staying here, free from life's interactions until you break from the crowd and run down the alley towards me
I look up and jump out over the buildings
and fly over the dark city.
The people are actually robots, floating above the ground, zipping through each other in and out of buildings and buses
This city is dark because they don't need to see. It smells because they can't, and it's fearful because they don't feel for each other
I watch from above as no words are said and no laughter is heard, some lose battery and break down in the street and cleaning machines sweep up their parts.
You fly up next to me and I grab your hand this time and we go away from here and I promise you that I won't jump down the rabbit hole again.
You don't believe me. I don't believe me either.

Sometimes I feel the need to write to get all the words in my head out.
But today when I started writing,
I found out that I can't stop.
There is more in my head than I previously thought and every word I write instead of just getting out of my head and staying out multiplies like a virus and creates 3 new words. 3 new words in my head that weren't there before. So I write out those 3 words and those 3 words each produce 3 more words and before I know it my brain is a place I don't even recognize. Sleep is impossible and standing still is even less so.
I spin for a few minutes or maybe hours but god it feels like days, and finally I start to slow down and words start producing slower and I start to hear my keyboard again.
I hear cars go by and realize I am holding my breath and biting down on my tongue
hard.
I slap myself to loosen my jaw and start to breathe again.
My hands feel surprisingly loose instead of cramped.
I stretch out my neck and roll out my shoulders and get up from my chair.

I haven't worked out that hard in months.

Do you remember when life was about something bigger?
about making meaning out of our existence?
Our ancestors risked their lives for this meaning,
and yet we've forgotten what it is.

We move through the motions of every day and cling to what we know for any sense of comfort and understanding
but this understanding is what is killing us
to not understand is to be vulnerable
to be afraid and alone
to be lost and confused
to be questioning and skeptical
to be unattached and free
to not understand is to be alive--
the urge to ask is the meaning of life.

So when you find yourself falling back into old routines and you feel the warmth of comfort and familiarity, you will laugh, and find yourself asking why?
And you'll smile. And feel alive.

He looked at me like he was looking into my brain
and as he slowly laughed I felt my heart beating in my ears and my vision going black. Then I caught my breath and he finished his laugh and I walked away to do other things. Those other things weren't nearly as good as his pre-laugh. He's the only one I know with a pre-laugh. It's a look
and then a pause
and then a smile
and then a chuckle as he looks down
he's never been able to laugh while looking at me
I think it's too hard for him to bear
because then he has to admit to himself that I'm the reason why he laughs
which is why I must hold his head up
so when now when he's laughing and sees my face
he can't deny that I'm the one who makes him that happy.

"The snow is gentle and beautiful,"
he said as he lightly brushed my hand,
the wind rushed through the collar of my coat
and my nose was red and numb,
but he was right.
I felt the stillness as we looked out onto the frozen lake,
out of breath simply from the lack of oxygen in the air.
The stillness felt both thick and weightless at the same time,
as if the non-existence of anything imposed so greatly you could reach out and touch it
The silence hung on the bent tree branches, slowing falling in drops,
and immediately evaporating to fill the air
resonating so loudly they hit us in the face,
stunting us with this existence of nothing.
Yet the imposing Nothing was beautiful and gentle, a calm experienced by few,
unwittingly desired by all.