that's the thing about missing you.
the days feel alright and I think I'm ok until I'm alone and then the days start to feel like months and the hours feel like seasons and the minutes feel like years until I'm only one half, incomplete, impecunious in every sense of the word. every second of the day.

I kept on saying "when"
when I should have been saying "if"
because you and i both know that the world is not a wish granting factory.

go outside and sing                              
as loud as you can          
go try new things
cry until you've run out of things to cry about
buy dozens of roses for yourself                        
travel to the countryside
stay up until 8 am                                 
change your religion                              
eat all the chocolate                  
drive anywhere and everywhere    
stare at the sky                                         
sleep by the stars                                
book a plane ticket to his city                            
and tell him you love him    
ask him out for coffee                      
or just tell him your name                          
put your feelings into writing
live in the city
love in his city
do what you want    
travel the world
do everything you can 
until you find yourself.   
s.k

you can call yourself out as much as you want
but you don't see yourself the way i do
when you're humming atlas hands
the way your eyes squint when you smile
how you remind me too much of a certain celebrity
but i know that you're better than he'll ever be
you are the only one that matters.
*s.k

i don't know what's crazier
you loving me
or me believing it.
now i know that
this is really happening
and my dear augustus,
this is infinite.
we are so effortlessly
madly
and unconditionally
in love.
*s.k.

you make me feel insane but you make me feel wanted and i don't know how that's possible because it's never felt more real
and nobody has ever kept me awake at night
no one has ever had me questioning myself
every second of the day
the way you have
*s.k.

my words don't speak volumes
they don't sound as beautiful
they don't feel as lovely or worthy
they aren't nearly as fetching
they can't move me like the wind
they can't make me feel like
i'm lying on a bed of daisies
and i'm inhaled by a cloud of lilac and ecstasy
they never sound as sweet
or pure
or real
they will never make me feel as happy
unless they're about you.

*s.k.