Want is never a graceful thing.
Want stays hungry
and it always wins.
The way we love each other is explosive,
all bare feet burning on the sunburned concrete.
So,
again,
but this time, softer.
You are a culmination of beautiful things trying to manifest themselves.
Its unsettling,
this feeling is unsettling.
I don't like that this ley line,
this live wire,
this intangible thing dancing between us,
doesn't have a name.
Everything should have a name.
Nothing in the world worth having comes easy,
right?
Nobody told me it would be like this.
And it wasn't easy,
right?
But we already knew that.
We sort of even hoped for it.
The sticking and burning it takes to become good again
has always made me restless.
I like it,
I think,
especially when we dance,
especially when we sing.
And when they ask me why,
I will say you.
I will always say you.
So,
maybe this isn't the winning universe,
but we'll never stop trying, right?
How long could I live with those almosts?
Please,
tell me your name in a dead language.
I will say it like a hymn.
Like Achilles,
we'll take it one step too far.
I'll let it haunt me in broad daylight.
Love,
the past is full of ghosts.
Make them stay.

Make them mine.