I don’t feel bad.
There is something significant and peaceful in the air.
I see everyone running past, dodging raindrops like the bullets of battle.
But they barely make a dent on my lightened euphoria.
It is dark yet shining with brilliance.
It should be melancholy, anger, sadness, distress.
But it is the one thing that didn’t hurt, the one thing that stays with me like the smile etched on my face.
That first day.
Before expectations, before regret, or anger or doubt.
I hadn’t heard the ball drop yet, to find myself left in a dark room.
The candle hadn’t burned out yet.
And the trust had yet to be found.
But that first day.
Before puddles we had to dodge, before secrets we had to keep.
It was just us, and your dogs of course.
Just the two of us locked in that kind of awkward and shuddering embrace where we’re lost in the lack of complexity that is found in a kiss.
Just a kiss.
Rain.
Before I felt bad.

How is it still so easy after years of holding my breath to have never asked for air? I am inhaling all of you, every bit of oxygenated lust and attraction I can get. But it is not just lust, it is wishes and hopes and predictions of what I wish the future would hold. Of what it could hold.

I will never gasp for air, never once ask to let it go, because if I lose but a molecule of that perfect mixture, a part of me goes with it. And I am far too selfish to let myself lose it. To lose you.

I see the light up ahead, and I inhale the winds of change, the smell of progression that you exude in my presence, and in my memories. My thoughts roll and roll with the waves of you dazzling and rumbling like the constant breathtaking sunset you are.

When we touch, there is no air, no breath. You took that away instantaneously when my expectations took hold, just like your embrace.

I see the future, and all it says is that I’ve taken my final breath, in the promise of you. You and all of you and only you. And by doing so I exhale so fully as to leave nothing at the door. No doubts, worries or inhibitions, just the wish and hope that when I breathe again you will breathe with me.

And it hurts, feeling like your forgettable.
Feeling like if you leave the room, coming back doesn’t matter.
I have to throw my hands in your face for you to remember me.  
You said I was funny, you said you were thinking of me until the new toy was in stock.
She’s bigger, she’s better, she’s shiny and new, you know I’d probably choose that too.
But when she smiles, all you see are the gears, working to keep her head intact, the heart is a ***** secured with glue and plastic.
And when she laughs at your jokes yeah she still looks pretty but doesn’t know what you said and then sits quietly.
Just so politely and shiny and new.

It must exist like they say
The poets, the artists, the drunks
For, where did it come from if not from within?

The world does not show it
For there is war and hate and malice
But there are people

It must exist like they say
The poets, the artists, the drunks
Yet I have yet to feel that euphoria

That whirlwind that everyone wants
That so few have
That even less keep

It must exist like they say
The poets, the artists, the drunks
Because I’m still counting on you.