if dreaming was a crime, I’d be on death row.
It is in dreams where I escape this reality full of turmoil and regret.
It is in dreams where I can fly.
It is in dreams where I do not know how I got where I am, I show up and that’s it. I’m there. I exist.
It is in dreams where I’m reunited with you, your hands and arms and just you and I simply never want to wake up.
It is when wake up where I’m immediately reminded that everything is so temporary, reality is so cruel but it is temporary. Nothing lasts forever, but if I could dream forever I wouldn’t mind being immortal. If I could lock with your eyes time wouldn’t exist, and we would be forever.

when I look up at the sky, I realize that it can go on an infinite amount of miles, I also realize just how lonely space must be.
How quiet, how mysterious, how dark.
I then realize, this is similar to me, how I’m impulsive and quick like the shooting stars, how quickly I can explode like a meteor and just how empty I become when left alone with my thoughts for too long.
When I look up at the night sky, and see two stars together, I realize that it is less lonely then I think it is, just how I feel whenever I’m holding your hand, or when we’re miles apart, the stars have each other, and until one of us explodes, we remain in this empty space together.

I have been locked away in my room for so long I’m afraid my bookshelf has started conversing with me.
Every time I step foot in my backyard, the grass always seems greener, and the sky, why, she gets prettier everyday.
My eyes burn from staring at the sun, I need to look up, never down, and I must make do until the moon arises again.
If I had known the last time I kissed him, held him would be the last for weeks, even months, I would’ve never let go. Everyday that passes, to an end I know not of, feels like forevermore.
They say patience is a virtue, but I’m broken. I’m alone with my shadow and thoughts that seem to bring me down. I grow timid, lifeless and departed from reality. I feel as though I’m floating, I do not actually exist, not in the minds of others not physically not ever.
I sometimes wonder what the point of waking up is, I could just lay in bed, deteriorating slowly, and when this is all over, I will build myself back up again.
At least I hope I will.
I’m always nervously staring at the clock, the calendar, I say time is an illusion but I can feel myself grow older and weaker as the clock numbers go upwards.
I sleep, constantly, an escape for just a few hours.
And if I’m lucky, I can find myself dreaming of him.
This will do. This will do until I can see him again, and feel his bare chest against mine.
If patience is a virtue, I no longer wish to be virtuous,
I just wish to be with him, outside, inside wherever it may be.