I hold time in my hands
And let it slip
Grain by grain
Like sand.
I am cautiously letting go
Doubtfully watching it slide
Through my fingers
In an ever larger river of silky minutes,
Hours, days.
I hold time in my hands
And I thought that if I wasted it
I'd regret it,
But you've been silent for so long
That nothing is a waste anymore.
Nothing is more of a waste of me
Than holding onto every second
As if the next will be the one
You say something.
I don't want this mistook
For progress.
When I stop caring
It is never progress,
It is always ruin.
It is always
A waste.
But, frankly, I am tired
And so passionately loving every moment
Of every day,
And suffering so bravely
To love you with those moments
Has sapped me,
Has finished me
For now.
And so I hold time between my fingers
Like a handful of sand
Lazily scooped up from the seashore
And scattered warm on the wind
And nothing
Can really get to me.
Just for now.

7 months. I've been waiting my whole life to be the one who leaves. 7 months. I know once I get a taste of it it will become an addiction. I'll never want to stop running.
7 months.

You say they've tried to save you,
They've tried to make you see,
But darling, let me tell you,
You ain't met nobody like me.

People tell me, more often than I usually admit, that there is something more meant for me.
Something more.
That's quite the statement. A very nice statement. But...what exactly does "something more" mean? What is this beyond I'm supposed to be on the cusp of finding? This higher existence, this ultimate place that I'm supposed to end up in and build my life from?
I get hurt, or rejected, or just plain forgotten, and people tell me "You deserve something more than this."
Do I?
I walk through my life, ordinary, just trying to muddle through and people say, "Oh, I think you're meant for more than this."
Am I?
And what, exactly, is there that is more than this? This something, beyond the confines of my current life. Pardon me for saying, but... I can't imagine more than all this. So I haven't got the girl. So I haven't got the job. So I haven't got the fame.
Yet.
Does that really mean I need something more? I thank the people who tell me it does. But my life goal is not finding something more than I've got. My quest in this world is to somehow accept and be happy with what I am, do, and have, already. Somehow, someday, I will find a way to be completely content with my life as it is, for all it lacks and for all my regrets and mistakes. For all the people who have overlooked or scorned me, I will rise above it inside myself.
I don't think there is more, honestly. This is it. This is my life. I'm glad I seem to deserve the world, and I'm glad to be told so. But I've got the world. My world. And I want to travel it, live in it, and become, somehow, comfortable in it. In my skin. As I am, without always grasping for more than I already have. Sure, I've got my dreams, my plans. And they're things that I very well could find and have in my time here. But...something more? Something more.
I'm not sure I want the pressure of "something more."
I think, if it's meant, the indefinable thing all these people are talking about will fall into my lap, and I'll be ready for it, because if it does, it won't be something more. It'll be the rest, the rest of what I already have.
And I'll be complete.

All I need to do is speak to you as if you are a wall,
Or a book,
Or a grave,
Or god.
Like I know you will say nothing back.
I have to remember that
And then I will be okay with you and I.

Sometimes I wonder why people don't judge me for being who I am.
And then I wonder if maybe they do, and I just never care enough to notice.
And then I wonder if maybe the reason I am not judged
Is because I don't care if I am.

Are you here to spend your nights like you know you have more of them?
To lose them in a haze because it feels nice?
Are you really on this earth to be... casual?
"If today amuses, today is good."
Or are you more?
On a journey,
Looking for truth,
For love,
For adventure,
For something that will make your speeding time worth the loss of it.
Are you?
Are you present?
Are you willing to risk experiencing yourself?
Or are you really on this earth
To pass the time with empty pleasures until you die?
I suppose,
Well I suppose it's your choice.

I'm saying miss me.
I'm saying want me to be in your life.
I'm saying I can't do all the wanting
For you.

Missing you makes me happy
Because the night I spent with you
Woke up a part of me
That I thought was dead and gone.
If I miss you forever
I will still remember your sleeping face
And I will still
Smile.

You love me until the moment you hate me.
You appreciate me until the moment you scorn me.
You laugh with me until the moment you strike me.
You support me until the moment you abandon me.
You pity me until the moment you blame me.
And I understand
That you are not tame
And that the price of being near you
Is blood.

My love, if you never look at me again,
People will still see you written on my skin.
You don't wash off.
(I've tried.) But...
Loving you has left
Such lovely scars.
You have tried to be insignificant.
You have failed.

Keep going.
A reason will present itself.

You needn't fear being forgotten.
Most people only get one life,
One person to make them memorable,
One chance to leave the world
Different
Than it was before.
But darling, I couldn't care less
Who thinks of me once I'm dust.
I have done enough thinking
Already
And the day
Is young.
I have this chance
To love you for the rest of my life
And I will use it
To carve your name into every stage I step on,
To make you real to every person I ever speak to
So that anyone on earth who knows me
Knows you
So that anyone on earth who loves me
Loves you.
It is already like that, you know.
Quietly, subtly, I have shown the people who care about me
Who you are
Who you've made me
And they have fallen in love with the marks you have left
On my skin
And on my soul
Just like I have-
Unwillingly, unwittingly,
They love you
As much as I do.
And they have no idea.
You
Have no idea
That anybody who loves me loves you
That anybody who admires me
Is admiring you
That I sing you to every audience I ever stand before
That I give the joy you woke inside of me
To every stranger I ever smile at,
That I show the tenderness you bathed my soul in
To every friend I ever comfort
That everything I ever touch
Becomes you.
That is what I am. That is what I've chosen to be,
With my silly gifts
And my chances.
I've already given them to you.
You just
Don't know it.
I've chosen to be the girl who loves you.
And whatever I do in this life that is incredible
Or kind
Or brave
Or beautiful
Will be yours
Will be my ecstatic shout to this whole world
That I love you.
And I can't think of anything
I would rather live for
Than being absolutely, unequivocally
Sure
That this place will never,
Ever be the same
Because you were in it.

My whole life I've been
"Spared the pain"
Of being hurt to my face,
So that others may be spared the
Shame
Of doing it right.
Don't
You
Spare
Either of us.

I don't know whether to hope I'm brave enough, or to fear that I am.

I always want to ask:
Why?
But I am always too afraid.

I have slept every night of my life
Save two
Without your arms around me.
That doesn't make it any easier on this,
One more.