One second I was holding your hand and the next I was frightened to let it go
because there we were

horizontal
and quiet

casually taking the bandaids off our hearts one by one in the dark

and with our foreheads touching my eyes and yours were like lighthouses across a bay
just forgetting about their responsibility to guide the boats for a while,
and simply just blinking back at each other
on a plane of existence only inhabited
by them

and while we lay there like that you whispered some words
and I whispered them back
thinking that maybe all the stories I’d been told when I was younger
hadn’t been such b.s. after all.

I think I’ve earned the right to talk freely about wanting to die.
It’s been so many times I thought I’d got the feeling down
I thought I knew what it was like.
It was always just the same,

like a five thousand pound weight on my chest
like my heart torn in half
like my mind numb and
my stomach hallow and
my brain bleeding.
It’s never felt sweet before,

never felt like staring at the sun for too long,
never felt like some chaotic spasm in my chest,
like my bandaid-coated heart couldn’t manage this much beauty
this much love
this much light
so it just decided that to quit existing would probably just be easier

because it never knew it could be allowed to feel this good
or to beat so strongly and truly
for someone else.

It’s never felt like this.