I read once that humans need 8 touches of affection to survive.
My boyfriend raised his eyebrows in disbelief and said,
"I don't think you NEED it, I think you just WANT it."
But I don't know how to tell him,
That the slightest brush of fingertips against mine
Lets me know I'm alive.
The tiniest kiss
Brings life to my hollow bones,
Encouraging the dusty chambers of my heart to beat in a long forgotten rhythm.
I seek out hugs incessantly
For the days I am too tired to hold myself together,
And in those 4 seconds my broken pieces are held in place
For a little while longer.
I hold onto any small, tenuous connection of physical contact
To remind myself that I am loved.
If human instinct is survival,
Then this is it.

I am in love with the rain.
Because for once
The world is soft.
It's harsh edges blur,
Neon lights melding together into a soft pastel.
The grime of every day life is washed away,
And for one perfect moment
The air smells new.
So much beauty comes from a planet
Soaked in its own tears.
It is a gentle reminder:
Even Mother Nature falls to her knees.
But she always manages to get back up
And deliver the sun.

There will be times where the world will forget who you are.
It will take in the softness of your skin,
The silk of your hair,
As a sign of weakness.
It will spit "woman" at you as if throwing stones,
Not remembering how devastating you can really be.
So scream.
Rage.
Rip through all of creation.
Let it meet its maker.

I'm clumsy.
And sometimes I do this thing,
Where my brain doesn't keep up with my mouth,
Like for example:
At the grocery store last week the guy asked "paper or plastic"
And I said "yes."

I used to date this guy.
I want to tell you his name,
But frankly I don't remember.
And I want to blame it on some deep-seated heartache,
But in reality my memory just *****.
He told me once that I could never love anyone.
He wanted to be a permanent fixture in my life,
And I didn't know how to tell him that I changed the sheets on my bed every month.

He was gone that April,
Leaving nothing behind except for the faint smell of cologne on the pillowcase,
And a note that read, "good luck."
To this day I still don't know if that was directed at me or the next person who had the misfortune of dating me.

That following winter,
I met someone.
And I learned that constellations aren't always found in the sky,
And the North Star doesn't seem as bright when you're standing beside someone you care about.
He took all the imperfections I thought I had,
And turned them into little treasures that he kept in his back pocket,
And on rainy days,
He'd hold one to my face and ask,
"How can you not love this?"

It wasn't until I was 2 years in I realized
That I had met someone who made me think,
Maybe these lavender sheets
Can stay a while.

We were brilliant:
The same way a lit match hits oil,
Bright, dangerous, -- fleeting.
You consumed me,
Hungrily,
Intensely.
I was kindling underneath your fingertips:
Fragile and ready to be devoured.
I found pleasure in the pain,
Loving the way your heat seared my flesh,
Every kiss laced with gasoline,
My head made dizzy by your smoke.
You were gone as quickly as you came:
With nothing but a shower of sparks to show for it.
But that's the thing with fire --
At the end of it,
All you're left with is ash.