When I feel alone I like to go and look at the sea,
        
            It looks beautiful at night.

The problem is,

                there are too many people already there

                                                          ­staring out into the midnight blue,

and I can't help but notice,
            
                              not one of them is you.

Don’t write letters; if you can’t say it face to face, you probably shouldn’t say it.

Try empathy, it’s beautiful.

Honesty is liberating, but inerasable.

Don’t think too much, it’ll hinder everything you want to do.

Don’t fear the fear; accept it, embrace it, deal with it, use it.

Lucid dream, especially when you’re awake.

Life is long; waste time, forget plans, start again.

Above all, remember, one day you’ll die, let that be a comfort.

'You alright?'

I won't say it.
I'm a child again, but so are you.

I'll wrap my fingers tightly with yours, and with all the strength I pretend to possess, I'll push back. No matter how my bones threaten to crack and break, it's a small price to pay, scratching miles beneath my fingernails. Somewhere in the middle of this torturous playground game, I decided it would be easy. Distracting myself with the lyrics to Cat Stevens' Greatest Hits, counting cracks in the ceiling, studying snatches of the dictionary. Did you know nauseous actually means to make ill? The correct term for feeling ill is nauseated. The distraction feels like it's working, but just one imbalance, one push from you, is all that's needed to knock it down. 'How Can I Tell You?',  the structure that encloses me, the insistently pedantic English language, all desert me, and I'm feeling every bone ache, every joint seize, every muscle tighten and burn.

But I'll kick out, with the half of myself that's not wounded. I'll kick back at you, breaking the rules we failed to set down, rather than breaking myself. My hands grip tighter onto yours, and I know that if I say it, you'll let go. My bones that threaten to crack and break feel connected to yours, as if when eventually released they'll feel alien and numb. I won't say it. I won't say it. I won't say it.

I'm not sure what we're playing anymore.
I feel nauseated.

You say it.

traced where the hollows outlined his prayers
hands into words promised rest and the sense of purpose
every dimple faint, indented
its growing radiance showed the still hidden sun
a sudden embracing prolonging splendid tension
in the first glimpse of his eyes

So maybe you've never been broken-hearted
never walked away
or left another standing in your indecisive wake
as I have,
because that's what this city means to me.
It's a throwback
neutral ground
somewhere to pretend under the garish glow of undying light
that we're living in a cartoon
a scripted glimpse
just a portion of our perfect lives
bitesize
ample
because that's enough of you.
I'm not talking to you any more
I'm talking to the one I left behind
amidst bright lights and roaring traffic
to script another episode
for my next five minutes of fame.
I hope I never see you in this city.

She minds.