I don't like it when your late

The fog is getting thicker by the second

And I need to stop watching CSI so late at night

I don't like it when your  late

And I can't be mad at you because you might be as puzzled as I am

And my walls are already down

And I've spent too much time laboriously keeping them up, hiding

And perhaps it would be easier to give in

And the silence is unbearable

But am I still too weak?

He is thunder.
His laughter booming. You hear him laugh and you want to know the joke. He is hi-fives and gum and lucky pennies and songs and light and stars and dreams.

She is lighting.
She extraordinarily radiating. Lose her and you'll miss her. But catch her and you will never regret waiting to take that picture. She is pinky promises and chocolate and rain and sunsets and kisses and sand.

They are the definition of imperfectly amazing.  They are reason for Friday. They are old photographs with memories brimming at the edge. They are bonfires and hands fitting together like two long lost puzzle pieces finally reunited.

They are often mistaken

They are usually  forgotten

They are moments, they are time.

They are you, they are me

They are **us.

Or maybe it was the wine.

They drank it like kings as if their French vintages could hide their infantile laughs.  
As if they could cover up their scar stained arms.

For hangovers end but their blood stained memories will not go away with more *****, with more money, with more "friends". And they are lonely.

Their money bought them love, and their ***** brought them friends. But now the bottles empty and they’ve been told one too many times that love never lasts.

They’ve found another bottle now.

They’ve found another excuse to celebrate.

But soon enough, they will bee drinking alone.

You are so incredibly, imperfectly, beautiful that it amazes me to how oblivious you are to it.

Maybe its the way your eyes light up when you talk about what you love. I know that look, its the look of a kid on Christmas Day.

Or maybe its your lips. Like rose petals they pin themselves back, showing your teeth.  As you scrunch up your nose, you give that whole hearted laugh. I'm not sure if your laughing at me, or at the moment. I guess I don't really care, I'll take what I can get.

And I've seen you at your worst. I've tried catching you. But my big eyes are not a substitute for my small hands. So maybe I'll just fall with you instead. Besides, isn't the view so much more beautiful form where you can see the whole sunset. Though you say you haven't seen the sunset in while. But, you see it everyday in the mirror. Everyday, the purples and reds and oranges reflect onto the world off your eyes.

Your eyes are funny like that. You wear that mask like its your job, but your eyes never stop telling the truth. You can't fool me, not even with the mask. I know your lies. And then there is your hands. Like velcro they seem to want to interlock with mine.

You have big hands. They can catch. Which is good. I'm terribly clumsy. I'm good at falling.

It was the whole universe on the surface area of the white wires that took me home. I like the oldies. Sometimes I’m just too tired to learn a new song. The old songs are just as good, just as beautiful, perhaps more.  And it’s not that I’m mad at you, I’d just rather hear Elton’s voice than yours. I know that your story is important, but I’ve heard it before. Yeah, I’ve heard his too, but his is more interesting, and I like it better. So please to don’t call me self- centered, like the uninteresting, dependent generation that I was born into.  So I don’t  think I’ll take out my headphones right now. I like hearing the music.

I fell in love with you when I was 13. I guess It was the thought of you. You were the universe on a pinpoint. You were everything and anything. Every eyelash fallen, every dandelion blown with the same wish. Love me, find me, be mine. I don't know exactly how the idea came to me. I was a romantic, poetic, and clueless. I couldn't help it. There were to many movies and books replaying scenes in my head. Too many hopeless love stories and happy ever afters that had been promised to me. I knew who you were. I could recognize you anywhere. I was yours and you were mine. I was young, unafraid, and in love. I fell in love at 13.

And he's funny, if I walk into a room, and he's there, he'll always make me laugh. Sure, if we walk down the hallway together, we won't hear whisper's of they are so cute. We also won't hear whispers of that won't last long either. And he makes me happy, he makes me feel good about myself. So right now, for  me, thats enough. So yeah, I'm not the one,  but I'd rather be the reason for his smile, than the reason for his heartbreak. Maybe my mind will change later, but right now I like they way things are. I'm satisfied. He makes me happy,  and I like that.

And It was like there was a fire in the underbelly of my heart, that I  had waited so long for. On the winding path that I constantly found myself lost in, I had found a reason. I had been lingering, hoping for some sort of inspiration, something to believe in, a map, a key. The uncertainty and curiosity that I tended to find myself tangled in, became my muse. Although I grasp tightly on to my reason, I doubt it will last long. I am known for losing things.

And I was perfect, to him at least, I was a heads up penny, a single ray of sunshine in a dark room. He told me how it was amazing how I was not already someone else's labeled piece in this silly game of love. He saw me how I wanted to see myself. And every moment we had was perfect, a perfect reproduction of what I had imagined it all to be. But like I always do, I ruin everything. He started to fall in love with me, as I fell out of love with him.

A pencil dive, when you're half way down into the cool deep,
finally realizing how bad you need air.
Then it becomes a struggle, a battle of  pushes and pulls.
It would be some much easier to give up but as your lungs shriek
in despair you know its the last thing you can do.  
So you get over the five seconds of struggle and
you make it back to civilization again.  
You continue this somewhat insane pattern of
deprivation and struggle just to remind yourself
how much you love the taste of air