I've been wanting to set sail for a while,
but now the intensity almost frightens me.
I can feel my body breaking
under the weight of this desire.

I want to give in –
to set sail toward you,
forgetting every shore I've ever known,
taking the risk, trusting the tide.

I thought I had this in my hands,
But I cannot command
nor the wind, nor the raging sea.
I know that now, as I set sail.

We sit at the table
and the white curtain
dances in the wind like a veil.
People talk
but I don't really listen.
I watch it flutter
and I see us
taking our vows.
It dances in the wind
like a veil.
Like you.

I've watered this garden for ages
Yet nothing ever grows
I've consulted botanical mages
They haven't the time for my trivial woes

I've pruned with bloodied fingertips-
Soil so stubborn, refusing to shift
I've given every pamphlet a flip
Still no signs of a horticultural gift

I'm a little tired.
I slept well,
and I don't think I'm sad.

It's just that...
being a responsible,
careful
adult
can get exhausting.

I thought it wouldn't be like that for me,
that I would always be
young and lucid.

But I guess,
no matter how different
we feel about ourselves,
we are all the same.

I thought we would be done by now.

But I keep finding more of you
between the lines
and more of me
between the letters.

Well…
this is not good.

I really, really hoped
you would look worse,
smell worse,
sound worse,
feel worse,
kiss worse…

But you are perfect.
Which means
I have a problem.

You're a gifted writer.
Every word you write
flirts with me.

And there's not much
you can do about it—
except stop writing.

But then,
it will be your silence
flirting with me.