Adam is sleeping.
Adam is stirring.
Adam is stretching and yawning.
Adam is awake.
Adam is looking for signs of life.
Adam is alone.
Adam is going for a walk.
Adam is exploring.
Adam is fascinated.
Adam is running.
Adam is jumping.
Adam is climbing mountains.
Adam is a mountain.
Adam is standing on the precipice.
Adam is reaching over the edge, ready to dive and tumble through what lies below.
Adam is awed.
Adam is bored.
Adam thinks….?
Adam thinks!
Adam CAN think.
Adam doesn't know what to think.
Adam considers.
Adam wants.
Adam needs, has, had, can, did, would, could, should, can't, won't, doesn't, might.
Adam pauses.
Adam rests.
Adam decides.

The only thing worse than a boy who hates you, a boy who loves you. So tell me now, if this ain't love then how do we get out? Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. I ought to have been prepared for this. He made me love him without looking at me. I wish I hated him. I do, you frustrate me, confuse me, infuriate me, more than anyone I've ever met. Learning to ignore it will teach you humility. When we first met you seemed fickle and shallow. And that cute, charming little smirk with its tendency to make the person it's directed at grin a little too? Don't even try, I hate that too. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all. The thing is - and I know this is going to sound strange – that I seem to love you sort of desperately. I feel like finally, there's time to breathe. Can we go back to hating each other now?

see flaws.

I don't want to sleep with you,
Let me explain what I mean when I say that.
Perhaps I should say I don't want to dream with you,
Although actually I would rather dream with you,
But sleep doesn't allow for it.
So what I mean to say is,
I want to dream with you.
I want the room to dissolve around us,
Drift and tumble and throw us into an adventure,
Pull us into hypnotic lull,
Leave us defenceless, cowering at the gates of what has never been,
Braving the streets of what could be.
Confusing us with the vicious wiles of those we know and love,
Rolling every word passed between us into nonsensical compelling narrative,
Composing a suffocating atmosphere from mist and memory.
Leave us to wake with the lingering taste of humming cadence.
In actuality, we're pushed through opposing doors, as night draws on.
It becomes a solo endeavour, non-sequential and estranging.
I'd rather forgo our separate adventures, and vocalise our own,
Painted on the drab walls in our words.
Or wait in silence,
The breaths between us conducting the simplest composition of being.
This is close to what I'm trying to say.
It is simply this;
If I can't dream with you,
I don't want to sleep with you,
As much as I don't want to sleep without you.