I tend to forget about all that goes on in my life,
Each mental note is burned,
Like a moth enticed by the beautiful flame,
No matter the importance,
Each trial becomes engulfed by the bigger questions,
That tend to argue about my very existence,
Every realization of growth rises in smoke,
A puff of air released from my lungs,
Blows it away into the blissful nothingness,
That sits in front of us all,
What remains is not memory,
Nor is it emotions,
They are questions,
That only fuel the fire lit between,
My breaths and dreams.

Talking is cheap, it's past the expiration date of acceptable emotions, stuck in a frenzy of confusing texts, play by plays repeating what we missed and why we missed the call, message tones begging to break the ice, a layer so thin yet none will take the step,  fearing the cold heart will stop what love we have found, so the answer goes unheard, the one grasping for unity waits for...

A placement holder on the finger that is filled with scrutiny and assumptions, genders are to follow suit, it's required to lose any self bond commitments, like the knots tied to keep your feet in the shoes once the string breaks they are not the same, to argue that the world will change with how we flaunt our success, this is a lie that is just covered up by ignorance and obliviousness, teach these hands to hold the love given not a tool that can be forgotten...

Among the ever revolving acts that led us here, there is a convenience in the unknown, yet there is proof that the next few sentences have been said before, not that we could find the time to be proven right, the science breeds the faith of the truth, it cannot be explained as a simple loop, but complex numbers separated by breaks in a negative and positive force, once the connection has been made new and old become the same picture, sleeping in water feels similar to floating in air, fear not the breath that with surely remove us from existence, nothing was there in the first place, because when it is found we call it a miracle, a simple mistake to the insomniac with no dogma, something is not enough to be real, could it be wrong, yes, experience does not change this, even when fueled by the favor of people deemed crazy, who really thinks such things when alone.