On the sofa we lay,
On his shoulder I leaned,
And he smiled and said,
"Play me a song."

So I grabbed my guitar
And began to pluck strings,
But then paused and thought,
"This is all wrong."

What I held was a fruit,
Yellow, bruising, and curved.
I peered up at him--
He didn't notice.

I continued to play,
But it squished with each strum--
He laughed as it came into focus.

And now I want to throw myself down.
I want to feel the ground beneath my knees and heaven's glow upon my upturned cheeks.
I want grateful tears to swell from my closed eyes,
Because I can't contain it all; I know I'd burst in an attempt.
I want to feel every word of every lover's ode wash over me;
I want to feel you all around me,
Ceaselessly, without end.
I want to always know you're there.
Experience, not age, limits the abilities of the heart and mind,
And I believe that you and I have experience beyond our years.
We can join the ranks of the young who ask, "What do they know?"
We can turn ourselves into a couple of clichés, loving through adolescence and promising our forevers away,
And I'd be content being typical if it was for you.

You know who you are.
I'm not going to say it.

First of all, I'm full of clichés and apologies.
Forgive me later; the rest is more important.

I wish I could tell you aloud the things I've told you while you slept.
It comes in bursts, which you trigger, and lately I miss you even when you're next to me.
Because when you're next to me, you're not yourself.
You're not ready, or not alone.
You can be cruel.

But I know you better.
You've told me a thousand times, I know you best.
I know the broken pieces, locked away and swept under rugs.
I searched until you showed me.

And it's not a pretty picture, not all of it.
I've loved you despite yourself.

And you-- you know me, too.
You're the only one who knows it all, because you've been there for so much of it so far.
And the rest, I've shown you.
And you're the only one.

You're the only one who's seen nearly so much-- my broken pieces locked away and swept under rugs-- and has ever come back for more.
You're the only one who's done this outside the boundaries of friendship, although that's where we're standing now.

And you're the only one who's loved me despite myself.
And not because you had to.

A yard, a porch, a floor, walls, and roof,
All sewn together with me and with you.
Fireplace stoked and the dog on the mat,
People peer in our windows to see.

Soon I'll show you how to cook chicken soup
And you'll help teach all of our kids how to sing,
And before long they'll think that they know everything,
But we'll laugh softly through.

God only knows what I see when I see us.
God only knows just how much I can feel.
Tree swings and strollers, some green grass and you--
God only knows how I want them.

It's a lifeline consisting of a single thread.
It's walking through the plague with a surgical mask.
It's five months down the donor list.
It's an experimental procedure at one year to live.
It's a mother praying she'll have as many children when she's fifty.

It's a kinder desperation, a nicer word.

Hope isn't a hero, as it's made out to be.
It's devastating.

I've never heard anything as true as what you have to say.
I've got these Feels, and I'm finding they're blinding me,
And all these Feels are linking back to you.

Slowly, I'm recovering.
I'm out of rehab now;
I'll never touch the stuff again.
I think, though, that I'm a drug as well,
And that old addiction is still addicted to me.
I hope so.

I hope it recovers, but I want it to suffer.
I hope withdrawals are awful.
I hope it gets night sweats.
I hope it can't sleep.
I hope it cries when it remembers how I made it feel.
I hope it sees me and aches at how happy I am without it.

I hope detox is hell and then we never see each other again,
But I do hope it recovers.

I can't remember exactly when the world ended;
I died alongside my fellow heathens.
Our memories are fuzzy.
Some of us swear to recall the flash.
Some say they remember the fires that burned us,
The waters that drowned us,
Or the winds that blew us all away.
Some further say we're still alive,
But that can't be true, can it?
I don't remember anything about it myself.
I remember things from right before.
Or, at least they feel like they were right before.
There could have been months in between, years even,
But I remember the face of a boy,
And his name,
And remembering him makes me feel like I never died at all.
I don't know what happened to him--
Whether he lived or died.
All I know is that he's not where we are.
I miss him a lot,
Especially since eternity feels like one long day.

I waited so long for that kiss, for those kisses.
I'd thought it was coming so many times.
I wanted to do it myself, but I didn't--
No, it had to be him,
And it had to be right.

So with the sun sinking away
And the dirt and sweat on our bodies
And the mosquitoes quietly stealing from us,
It happened,
Once, and again, and again,
But never enough.

His fingers tracing down to the small of my back
And my arms lacing around his neck
With his back in the dirt
And my chest against his
And our words floating quietly as whispers.
It happened.

And nothing had ever been more right.

That's enough.

All the words from before,
Though they all were sincere,
My young heart will begin to rebuff.

I have no one to blame
But myself when I'm sore,
And it's not like it came off the cuff.

I said I'd take them down
And just throw them away,
But look now, I've been called on my bluff.

I don't want them forgotten,
And yet, yes I do.
But I meant them, and now that's enough.

I loved someone, once.

A person tall and thick with thought,
Whose reach was wider than a mile;
Whose words were low and filled to brims
And ordered my whims single file;

Whose eyes made blood flush under cheeks
And wandered nary from my own;
Whose air was just enough to bind;
Whose arms were heavy as a stone;

Whose breath on me could wear me down
And raise me up to live anew;
Whose presence haunted my mind's halls;
Whose love was too good to be true--

And it was.

Somewhere along the way,
I realized that that person didn't exist.

He never had.

You're my very own connotation for divinity.
More importantly, you're my very own.
Words can only say so much.

I'm riding on ideas that won't quiet down;
Ideas of someone that continues to leave.
They shine for a while, a light between trees,
Then fade like an old song with notes overplayed,
And feelings like comfort soon make me afraid.

I don't know how you do it,
How you're both so big and small.
I fell just as the leaves did;
I for you and them for Fall.

I've never given so much
And received much in return,
But you've turned that around;
Shown me that love is grown and earned.

Your breathing in the nighttime;
Your clock beside the bed;
Your sleeping speech of nonsense;
Your image in my head.

I don't know how you do it,
How you're both so big and small.
I fell just as the leaves did;
I for you and them for Fall.