I look upon the remnants of possible lovers and romantic interests like an architect looks upon blueprints. The ones that got away, the rejected and ignored, the ones I was too distant to carry on. Like all things we long for the unseen, the unfinished grasps us like hot wax and sticks to the skin. I find my desperate mind digging through old facebook messages like a survivor returning to the rubble. Why do I flee to dead cities? Return to a room without a roof when a downpour abates me. Like all things in life I find myself stuck on the incomplete, unable to focus on my work, finish my art or grow beyond the child I seem desperate to hold onto. My failed loves are another marionette without an arm, another unfinished chapter I can write and rewrite the end to without setting down. I look upon a stage of light hearted chemistry, a back and forth laid bare in texts, like the out of date actor who’s part was replaced I’ll rewatch it unable to change.

Open space is fearful, the blank page leaves me shaken, an empty canvas is a sight I cannot bare. Like open waters I fear I’ll drown before I make it to dry land, so afraid of swimming I will burrow my feet into well trodden sand and shelter under trees long since dead. I will wither away on my island of bones, looking through half finished love affairs and messages that have lost all meaning. If I can just tread my feet in the waters below I can finally set this island ablaze. Burn away the rotten skin that ails me so and watch the credits role on my final goodbye. But the water thickens like concrete ahead and the waves form a wall in my wake. I’m not ready to take the step, to let unfinished words be nothing more. When I’m finally ready to bury the page, I will wade through the waters to shore.