i hate small talk.
in such an enigmatic world,
convoluted and destitute of magic,
who cares about the weather?
at 1o'clock in the morning,
as we're sitting up drowning in caffeine like a life source
i want to know why your mother left when you were ten.
i want to know where that scar on your arm is from,
how your marvelous compositions originated.
i need to know your most reclusive dreams,
your thoughts and plans for the future planned years in advance.
i don't care about your 9-5 job--
who was your first love?
and
are you finally over how she broke your heart?
i understand if you're not.

let's skip the small talk, love.
i want to know you.