we are Here.
the little red dot
on the map that says,
you are Here.
but it's almost like
undefined territory
on the map, it's almost
like we're on some new
street that's not on
a map yet. our little
Here dot is floating
out in the middle of
the ocean, it's planted
in the middle of
absolute nowhere
and maybe that's
what we are:
nowhere and nothing.

but god, I'm looking at this
map, and I'm looking at you
and I don't care about any
map. I don't care if we're
planted on it, I don't
care if we are Here or
There or Anywhere
because I'm looking at
you, and you have those
eyes of permanence, those
endless pits of dark
abyss that I want to drown
in and this map means
nothing to me because
you are Here and I am
Here and if we are in the
middle of a ******* ocean
I am begging you to dive.

I emptied myself for
so many of you, only
to realize you were
more than happy to
see my bones
at their barest
and leave me in
pieces, carrying
away the parts that
matter most and leaving
me nothing
in return.

i feel it happening.
i feel myself
falling down that
veritable rabbit hole of
feelings and
vulnerability and
you
and that's
a ******* terrifying
thing, just a dangerous
******* place to be
because god knows
if you'll catch me
or you'll just let
me hit the ground.
not even the ground,
it's like tipping
backwards off this
cliff ledge,
not knowing
whether there's
merciful water down
there to catch me
or jagged angry rocks
waiting to rip me
to pieces.

they gut you, sometimes.
like little fish, like hunted
deer - they don't mean to.
you were the deer they
clipped on the highway,
you were the fish too sick
to release after catch. and
they hold on, they try
to save you. but in the end
the true mercy is the true
end, and so they gut you.

do you understand? did
you see the way I poured
myself out for you? an
ocean of love and want and
need, and it was just food
for the dirt. I ripped myself
open, you ripped me open,
and now this carcass needs
disposal. I don't imagine
I'm worth a wake, hardly
a moment of silence. the
trash heap out back seems
to be a nice enough
place.

is it too soon to say this?
is it too soon to ask you
to stay? I dreamed about
you again last night,
fourth time this week. it
was hardly worth mentioning,
except the way you looked at
me, like maybe I'll never
have to ask you to stay,
because you'll do it anyway.
I don't want you to be a passing
ship, making quiet waves in
the middle of the night, only
to sail away sometime in
the early morning without
saying goodbye. I want to be
your harbor, I want to be the
place you land and realize
this, this place here, was always
meant to be your last stop.
ship becomes house becomes
home. is it too soon to say
this? you know I didn't mean
for this. everything tears
me to shreds, wanting something
so tenuous rips me to shreds
but god, there's something about
you that makes me want anchor.
it makes me want to hold on
for dear life, even if it means
sinking and drowning,
becoming yet another
skeleton laid to rest on
your ocean floor, miles and
miles deep and irretrievable.
it's just that when I close my
eyes, I smell you on my skin.
it's just that when I close my
eyes, I find myself still getting
lost in the bottomless abysses
that are your eyes and I could
stay there forever,
in that dark and beautiful
abyss.

is it too soon to say this?

tell me to let go.
tell you it's like
amputation - yes,
I can learn to live
without that limb
but god, I am
never whole again.
I never liked how
easy it was for you
to strip me of my
choices. never liked
the way your hand
was like tape over
my mouth, the way
you draped your
marionette strings
all over my body.
that cage you built,
I outgrew it faster
than you could have
imagined. it's funny
how easily you erased
me; it's funny, you told
me my love was like
tattoo, permanent and
forever on your skin
but it seems like you
erased it easy as pencil
lead. it's easy to forget
about us, we were so
forgetable. it was
easy to let you go.
I loved you. did I love
you? it's easier to ask
if you loved me, and
I think the answer
to that question is as
complex and complicated
and infinite as this
universe we live in:
yes and no and never
and always. you didn't
fight until I walked
away, and even then
those pulls on that fishing
line were lackluster at
best, and when the line
snapped, you watched
me drift away, like a ship
you never quite planned to
board. or maybe that
was me, watching you
sail away on your little
ship for one. it was supposed
to be for both of us,
but I think it was always
only big enough for you.
it's almost
impossible to disentangle
these wires between us -
the ones where we loved,
the ones where we didn't,
the ones where you left,
and the the last one where
I left. it doesn't matter,
really. our story was
so much ugly, so much
loneliness and anger.

it wasn't like losing a limb,
losing you. it was
more like losing an
entire layer of myself,
a layer I didn't realize
I'd outgrown until I was
looking at its tattered
hems and all the rips
and scars, and how it
stopped fitting so long
ago. I threw it out
the other night, and
my god I didn't think
twice.

when we collide
it will be something
like irate ocean pulverizing
the rocky cliffs, pulling
the earth to its knees.
it will be the silence
when it snows for the
first time around midnight,
the muted air and the
peaceful silence.
it'll be our hands
and it'll be our mouths
and it will destroy entire
universes, and quietly,
afterwards, it will
build them up stronger
than they could have
possibly imagined.