Do you remember when there was no such thing as time and we were all that were? Sitting, laying, touching, laughing, and loving one another in-between my life and yours. Your life, your family and your home; years that defined you, people who loved you and a refuge from humanity and all that was false in your eyes, your dark lovely eyes. And mine, stability built up from a cliffs edge, devotion and love- caring for blood that defined what home was to me; no walls or place. Moments and feelings that I treasure and recall are what we have, and I find that they are not enough to fill the days without you...

My dreams of a family, of solid ground, that I won't be left alone or forced to roam as so many have before me. I wonder about your dreams and what they might be. But our time has been too brief; I barely know you. But I do know of you and some parts come through our distance and space. Which lead me to believe that you don't have dreams, not truly, not like I do. Just as your sleep is not visited by flashing pleasantries, your conscious state isn't either...

Is it?

In a moment fully and only allowing contentment, as long as you have control. And when you don't clutching to stave off admitting a black mood; acknowledging only furthering it's substance. At least- that is what you've said, or what I've remembered. But I couldn't see your lips moving; I can't know that it is real, your words. Just as I can't truly know that you are real when you aren't here. All memories and feelings of devotion could be from my own mind's making, complete, and seemingly whole, but devoid; as then my life would be.

You could just be a story, a lovely story.

Child romance, I didn’t think it was
I had small hands in your grasp

I considered expressing “hellos and best wishes”
Reality, said I shouldn’t try too hard
Literal, thought it hadn’t been the eternity needed
And logic reasoned I should wait till' you thought of "hellos" too

These truths wouldn’t console me
When you’d tell of your sold soul
Nor would they sew my confidence back
Once you delivered your sharp words

But I want to speak to you to feel closer to what once was true.

Our rings to shield, the rings to conserve
Rings to claim we loved one another
Were rusted with the
Liquid I cried, exchanged and used,
I was left so dehydrated from the wound that was you.

And that is when I remember what you had been,

When your touch was no longer lightning to my skin
And you were only mildly fascinating like a passing rain
You were wrenched and I became deluded for what I thought was love

But then those truths in the catacombs of my mind
Broadcasted and advertised along your every touch, your every kiss
Expressing a child romance
And what you really were to me
Passing

I feel silly wanting a life with you
you're inaccessible at best.
I'm always left in your dreams
but you don't dream, you rest.

"I'm not ready, but I wouldn't turn you away"
you're kind and blatant- honest.
I don't know how to hear your words
but it's true that you never promised.

I am shaking and dripping,
wondering if I'm always the one broken.
Curling into myself for something
I could not fathom, nor forsee.

If it is as they say- it will get worse
before a reprieve will reach me...
I wonder if as it ebbs and flows
if that will mean an end to it, that if then- it leaves me.
If hearts grow fonder when apart
then what happens when they fray
untouched, unmoved, left to do what all things left do- fade.
Silence and what she knows it means
he asks, and she is silent of her fears
and hopes he doesn't notice them.
The passion and desire she feels for him flares
and falls and hurts her, needles and shards ripping
into pleasantries and memories of everything they have ever had.
And "I don't know you," and "Do you know me?"
I hate when you aren't here to ease my feelings,
and I love when you're small and apologetic like a child.
It is then that I know you are true.
When you are honest, when I remember you're human.
I Love you.

Everything is lacking at the end of the day; I know I'm not happy.
Knowing isn't news so- it can't be that bad, right?
I can keep myself busy and forget... mostly.
Small things still make me feel, softness on my feet
encompassing smells, feelings of accomplishment,
but then when I am alone those all fall away,

and I'm not happy and you can't handle that...

I am alone now and this house is big without bodies pressed,
without bodies giggling or whispering too late at night.
I have come to miss them and your substance.
I don't have anyone for that I must care.
So, there is no one I have to be strong for here,
only myself
and me
and I,
and I am one person, there aren't any alter egos here.
and I am not strong without responsibility.

And I am not happy and you can't handle that.
 
Perhaps I'd be more suited to this solitary living if I was someone else, someone more like you.
And perhaps if you knew, truly- you'd break like I do
and make my shattered pieces fit right, and back to being whole.
But I don't tell, I won't, this isn't new
Your presence has always been missed
this- new emptiness
just adds to
the lack of,
and I L-O-V-E... you
But I don't want to tell
because nothing changes,
it can't and I know.

But still, I am not happy
and I don't think that you can handle that.

Do you remember when there was no such thing as time and we were all that were? Sitting, laying, touching, laughing, and loving one another in-between my life and yours. Your life, your family and your home; years that defined you, people who loved you and a refuge from humanity and all that was false in your eyes, your dark lovely eyes. And mine, stability built up from a cliffs edge, devotion and love- caring for blood that defined what home was to me; no walls or place. Moments and feelings that I treasure and recall are what we have, and I find that they are not enough to fill the days without you...