I've stopped writing for now. A hiatus if you will, because I have started to question the words forming in my head. I don't always believe they're genuine, of my own fruition, and will therefore refuse to claim them as my own. That's what writing is, really...affirming your faith in your thoughts, words, and actions. I can't give myself that right now. I can't claim something I doubt my trust in, the same as I can't caress a face that isn't real...and I'm not about to hurt - or overexert - myself trying to do so.

I do, however, still have hope for the future. I can admit that much. I have dreams and goals for my life that I believe are highly attainable and I will reach them. I will continue climbing that tree, always looking up and staying humble by occasionally looking down. I know the higher I go, the more risk is involved by ever falling. I may perch on a branch, catching my breath, but I will never give up. Not even the gustiest of gales will shake me from this tree, not even the hottest of flames will persuade me to give in and come down.

I may not ever reach the top of this tree, but that's only because it will continue to grow as I continue to climb. Its arms will stretch higher and will strengthen to carry my weight as I become stronger, as I get closer to my dreams. Maybe eventually I will stop at a high enough branch. I may even stay for a very long time, but I vow to die as high up as possible, in the arms of my aspirations, instead of on the ground, wishing I had started already.

I only hope you will be able to say the same.

My feet hit the pedals like they're bricks. The wind flows through my hair like little fingers and I can almost taste the sun as it touches my lips. In this moment, I could go on forever. In this moment, I feel the warmth wrapped around my naked arms. We are one, breathing organism and I can feel every bump and bruise. We're all connected and breathing in each other's exhales; they reverberate through the wind.

I put my hand around your shoulder and somewhere someone feels the warmth. I give in to this idea.

I watch the tendrils of smoke wrap themselves around my fingers, loving them, kissing every small pore. I want to smell like smoke. I want it to be obvious I did something unhealthy and I want you to judge me for it. I want you to see - I'm proud of the wrongdoing.
I watch the streetlights flicker, see the emptiness across the roads as the people sprawl across their half-empty beds, burdened with the lull of dream scape. I hold to the wind as it chills my bones and let it take my thoughts higher than all this. I want to be down near the water, soaked through my skin; I want to be cold, frigid, and have my senses heightened. I want to feel everything in a heightened state of awareness.

I have searched years for something
Whose true nature eludes me

The last night I held you
You were already gone
I felt you slip away
In the space between our words and bodies
Don’t ask me how
I only know it went

What a fleeting, fickle feeling
Hope
And the idea perhaps one day it will return,
choose to stay despite the damage

Held me the whole ride,
meant so much more
than I knew at the time.
The absence of words, replaced
with soft, subtle intent.
So delicately cloaked, barely noticed it
sink deep into my chest.
Solace in these quiet spaces,
safety in the soft catch.
And while I cannot fill your cup,
I will steady you til it overflows.

Lately it feels like I’ve been unearthing
Tiny pieces of myself, swallowed and forgotten
Or hidden deep in my skin.
They push at me like shrapnel
Fragmented memories and
the way my name sounds in your throat.
Something long dormant
Eroding carefully crafted callouses
It feels different this time
Somehow sharper around all my worn edges.