To the boy who wants to travel the world.

I remember being younger and spinning my globe around with my fingertips touching the equator. I remember thinking that I wanted to go everywhere. I wanted to step on every patch of land, swim in every drop of ocean, and look up at every single cloud in the sky. But then I got older, and I realized how harsh and cynical this world could be. I got older and wondered if I would never even step foot out of my hometown in fear of what else was out there.

To the boy who wants to travel the world.

I hope it's beautiful. I hope that it gives you chills in your spine and provides new breath in your lungs. I hope you get knocked down--hard. But I hope you have the courage to get right back up and keep moving on. I hope you find a new perspective looking at life through the under glass of a broken bottle. I hope you meet people who touch your life in tender ways, because I know you'll touch everyone else's.

To the boy who wants to travel the world.

There's going to be downsides to every situation, no matter where you are. There will be consequences from roaming in any area. But I will tell you this. If traveling was easy, every human being would do it. There will be days that you'll just want to hide under the covers, but I know that you'll keep pushing on.

To the boy who wants to travel the world.

You are beautiful. You are beautiful and don't you ever forget that. No matter what side of the world you're on, no matter how many miles or mere inches are separating us, none of that matters. But what does matter is that I love you. And I want you to be happy. So travel the world until your heart is content, and I truly do hope that you find what you're looking for.

(Even if you're just looking for yourself.)

Do you believe in soulmates?
it is indeed cliche and overused
but i do
i do believe in the miracle of falling in love
each of us are destined to be with someone
someone who brings sunshine
when your days are rainy
someone who gives you hope
when you're out of faith
someone who holds your hand
when your ride is bumpy
your soulmate is your other half
they might be thrown across the world
they might also be living next door
how will you know who your soulmates is?
you see, some say you don't
one day you just take the jump
and wait till fate catches
have you ever met someone for the first time
but your heart feels as if you’ve met them before?
the moment you meet someone
that capital S someone
you'll feel an inexplicable attraction to that person
your souls are drawn to each other
that's the thing about love
logic can never do the math
there is someone, somewhere out there
who you can just love and love
no matter how tough the journey is
no matter how constant the drift-aparts are
you will always find your way
back to each other

Before you get lost in the unfinished maps of her veins
the ones like yours, but not stitched up too many times to count on the ticks of a clock,
make sure that she trusts you enough to tell the truth.
Make sure that she loves you enough to know how you lie.
Remember that every single time you open your mouth, she's wishing
you're saying I love you.
Remember that on Fridays she doesn't want to cook.
And she sure doesn't want you to cook anything that was slaughtered.
Remember that she prefers cheap whiskey over champagne.
And when you're opening your ribcage to show her how fast your heart beats
when she grabs your wrists, make sure the butterflies are set free.
Make sure they find the window.
Make sure they find a home.
Remember that every living creature is just that, living.
Remember that they have a heartbeat.
And when you stop breathing when you see her with her hair down,
when you're thinking about starting a religion about girls with flowers for eyes,
tell her she's beautiful.
Tell her she's so full of the future.
Get her a telescope so you can show her the moon when it's bigger than both your thumbs.
Take her skiing while it's Summer in Australia even though you curse the snow as if it
were born out of wedlock.
Let her know she's not the first but she's definitely the only, and you're so scared of dying.
You never know what you have until it's locked firmly in your grasp as if to not let it run away.
You might lose a lot of blood but you'll never lose your way home.
I don't want to hear the dial tone.
I want to hear your voice, I want to hear you scream.  Tell me to leave.
Tell me that I am the only road that leads you to a purpose.
That in a world of blindness I am so technicolour.
Even though I can't promise you that, I can give you my words, thrusted from my lungs
like wildfire.
Searching for the way out.
Talk to me about religion, please please convince me that there is something out there other than
rotting in the ground for all of eternity.
Bible scripture doesn't whisper of your lips like my pillows do.
I never really thought about pillow talk until they started speaking me to sleep.
I find myself found by the curvature of your spine, of the shadows that take up residence on your shoulders like they have lived there all along.
I want to kiss away every bit of pain that has ever stopped you from smiling at strangers
and let you know that I'm coming home and I will always find your hands.
Let your ribs shake when your heart has had enough.
Let them shake.
Let the rain come through your window while you're sitting there in your makeshift darkroom.
You are the only thing I know about consistency.
And before I get lost in the unfinished maps of your veins,
I will be making sure they lead to me.

Everything is dust.
I found you on my bookshelf untouched.
I am sorry, I'll leave you there again and I'm never good at apologies.
I tried very hard to leave you alone, but you were this enigma.
I swear that the Gods put attracting magnets in both of us, because whenever I speak with you
I have this surge inside me, something that can't be explained.
It feels like we were written in the stars or some other *******.
I don't believe in that anyways.
Or I didn't, until you.
I am sorry that I wear nooses as necklaces, and I'm sorry that maybe you got tangled in them.
I'm sorry you couldn't breathe, because I wanted you to.
I want you to keep on breathing forever and when you can't anymore...
then I won't either.
I have a feeling that if you read this you'd be sick to your stomach.
I have a feeling that if I touched you again you wouldn't know why,
but you wouldn't ask.
You were just like that sometimes.
My candle flickers everytime I think of you, and I think it misses you as well.
I think that it needs you to stay aflame. I think I need you to stay aflame.

My neighbours are breaking some things out in the backyard and I kind of want to say
"hey, here's another thing you can break" and let them smash me into pieces with their hammer.
I think that would be a fun way to die.
You know, my brother asked me if I wanted to die in my sleep or of old age.
I said neither. I told him that I wanted to get in a big car wreck,
or murdered in an alley.
He asked why, and I consequently told him that I wanted to feel the life being pulled from me.
I told him you only die once. I don't think he was ready for that.
He is six.

If you were there you'd probably laugh and offer to be the one to ****** me.
In secret, I liked that about you.
I like that you clap your hands when you laugh.
I am sorry, I'll leave you there again.
I am sorry.
I'm never good with apologies.

I am sorry to her, also.
Because I never wanted her to hurt.
I was jealous that she gets you all the time.
I was jealous that she is your stars and your moon and your sun in the morning.
I only got to be a silhouette in your life. A shadowy figure clinging to dark magic and the shadows of ravens
in cemeteries where I imagined myself being buried.

I miss you so much and I've never even had you, how sad.
I think that someone like you almost always turns into a hurricane.
Everything good must come to an end and all those merry little details.
I've used up all of my metaphors on you.
I can't compare your eyes to anything else except for the most exquisite of art pieces,
and I've never been to a gallery.
I guess I'm not one to make judgement on anything.

I am so sorry for losing, but I am not sorry that you're winning.
You'll be much better now, and I think she makes you into more of a martyr.
I don't know how I feel about that.
The only poetic thing I can say to you now is "I'm sorry"
and even though I'm not good with apologies,
I really mean that.
I think now I've turned to dust.