I remember asking my dad,
“How many stars are in the sky,”
and he said something like,
“Way too many to count.”
But I’ve counted.
And after recounting
                                      and recounting
and scribbling in my notebook
under my fathers flashlight
I can tell you that there is
indeed a number.

And to this day I prefer
reading the stars over anything.
They’re the oldest book ever written.
Space: the oldest canvas to be sewn
and the cosmos the paint of Picasso.
Each spec is its own character
each pair a set of eyes
where I can lose myself in their gaze.
A celestial connect the dots
where I collect the pictures
and pick out my favorite spots.

But when my son
is old enough to ask,
“How many stars are in the sky?”
I’ll just hand him a notebook
and tell him to read what he sees.

They say when you think about someone you “like,” you get butterflies in your stomach.
When I first heard that, I laughed.
I don’t feel butterflies with you.
I feel a wildfire.          
Every word you spit is kindling to the scalding embers in my throat,        
welding my words into bars too heavy for my tongue to lift.                    
I scream fire yet you wouldn’t **** to put me out.
Sweet suffering;
The sickness in my stomach
Like eating too much ice cream at once        
And your heat is inescapable.
Why?
I don’t know
Why?
I don’t know.        
Why?
I don’t know!
Why?
I can’t!
Because the truth is: you could burn away every string of flesh in my body and I would still find 206 reasons to stay carved into the marrow of my bones.
You are not the exhilaration of the fall,
You are the sweat in my palms before I jump.
You are not the volume in my voice,
You are the way I bite my lip before I speak.
You are the finish line on a hot mid-day
And I am the last runner to finish.
If you are a wildfire,              
Then time is a pile of dead Autumn leaves
And we didn’t know any better.
One day I hope you look back and see all that you’ve burned.
There will be people who are rivers and streams and men in yellow
Who will drown you with words and water                
Because they’ve never seen red
And you will always be the only force in existence they cannot touch.
I think you will always be a wildfire
Even when I become a storm-cloud
And you are a timid flame.

You once asked me why I love you.

The mascara of curiosity outlined the questioning glare of your eyes, and your fruity scented lipgloss covered your worrisome words with a hint of doubt – and  strawberries.

And just as I was about to pluck the ripest answer from the back of my mind you interrupted me and planted seeds of insecurity you so desperately try to force under the earth – away from the eyes of those who live above it.

You remind me of the way you push me away whenever the going gets tough, even though together we're tougher than anything rough, pushing back harder than any kind of force that you apply on me whenever I'd ask, "What's wrong?"

You remind me of the way you cling to me like magnets on a fridge,

of the way you can't hold much of a conversation because you're awfully shy,

Of the way your interests differ from mine,

Of the way your smile lacks luster compared to other girls' smiles.

So I remind you, that whenever you'd push me away I'd pull you in even closer,

that my hands cling on to your waist, like magnets on a fridge,
and that we'd stand there with me embracing you, and silence embracing us, because worrying about words to say would only get in the way of me appreciating what's in my arms,

I remind you that my interest in kissing you, differs in your interest in kissing me.
And that your interest in my smile differs from my interest in your smile, unique and perfect on you and simply only you,
Never will it fit better on anyone else.

So you ask, and I reply,

The answer is quite simple love,
My heart is forever yours, because all of the above.

Ours might be the last generation
That cared to fix broken things.

Lifelong love is proof of the
Power of will to beat a dead

Horse until it stands up and
Keeps walking.