it is 3:42 and i can't
stop
thinking of you
i don't know your name, or
what comforts you when you are sad
i am unaware if you like my favorite books
or if, when reading them,
would understand
what i am trying to say;
not in so many words,
but between the lines
and trapped in the connotations
of phrases i've loved
for all of my awareness.
your dreams are a mystery;
someday, i will pull them
from your mind
in between the meeting of our
lips
and then we will explore them,
make them reality and truth
and maybe yours
might line up with mine
and we will claim
the world, like it has been
reborn; ours for the taking;
new.
i am not aware of
where you most desire
to be
is it by the sea or
in the middle of rome,
your hands rooted
deep into history,
learning from the ghosts
haunting each corner of
every street.
nor do i know if you care
that i react to obvious twists,
or shocks that feel
like the greatest earthquake,
shaking my core and
the ground beneath my feet
and does it make you laugh when
i yell at people in horror movies?
does it seem sweet that
i speak to my pets
as though they are people,
as though they understand?
will you smile,
fond and sweet,
when i tell you the story
of my first time to new york,
for the one thousandth time,
of how i saw potential,
and life,
and everything that
i wanted to
be?
i try to picture you but
all i can see is a
white,
blank canvas
too far away to see the dots that
connect to form
you.
hopefully, maybe,
when the fates entangled our futures
and we are finally
thrust together, we'll
fit
into each other
perfectly.