Los Angeles, 2016.

My roommate Jaime thinks it's strange that Americans take months on months to say "I love you" in relationships. He asks why.

The Spanish say it in the first few weeks.

I haven't felt love and meant it since at least then, so maybe the Spanish are onto something. Maybe I've had the wrong definition. Maybe it's time to re-examine crushing.

So what if I said that I'm Spanish-in-love with you? A little less than puppy love but a little more exciting. And not quite the honeymoon phase but a little more worth writing.

A little bit of a crush but maybe unrequited. Maybe not.

Maybe I'm just trying to prove the country wrong. Maybe I'm trying to take the L-word off a pedestal. Or maybe I'm just Spanish in love with you.

It's something to do with being punch-drunk, feeling shake-heavy, and catching your right hook like it was made for my face.  And face it, probably. Maybe this is just business casual. You can say goodbye like it's an email.

Something like a fling, but a little less irreparable. This isn't like the L-word because it isn't something inevitable. Play it cool, you're just Spanish in love with him. Maybe you'll meet someone new soon. Or maybe you'll both move to Oregon.

I think you're afraid to debate this with me, but I guess you're safer in the center. Next question please, like a career politician dodging bullets, full of it. Or maybe you're more like Honest Abe in the middle of it, perfect hands with signs that say "Do Not Touch." Back against the wall with the world wide open.

I might have to burn this House down just to get something done. Otherwise I'm only good for sitting across from you.

Don't worry, it's all just wild west make believe. Falling in love is the best high, but that's the kind that ends up more wanted Dead than Alive. So stick 'em up partner, you're just Spanish in love with them. They only call it a crush when the results ain't pretty, a little gushy, American, and ******.

Maybe I'm just putting myself through unnecessary roughness. Probably best for us all to stay romantically cautionary. Everyone plays a beautiful game but yours is better than theirs. Crackin' taters past my outfield like Don Julio. That's just baseball, baby.

So maybe love in Europe is more our frequency. More nonchalant love with a tad bit of leniency. Less expectation in all these fledgling relationships. I think that's something we could all get behind, right?

Let's just say I understand the zeitgeist.

Because love isn't something you give out little by little. It's not a hurdle to complete and it's not a marathon to struggle. It's not a circle on a calendar or a deadline to pass under. I've been thinking lately about how we're all a little daunted by the thought of saying it out right. Maybe we're too afraid of getting it right to even say it at all.

So maybe I'll never have a definition to describe it. Maybe the feeling is too fleeting to ever tie the phrase down to it. Best to stick with the same old same old, and snub the face of wishful thinking.

How did we get here anyway? Oh, that's right. It all started with Jaime's question.

Nobody ever expects the Spanish inquisition.

tail lights burn the street red.

cold branches curl away from the scene
as the wheels barrel down
and replace you with heat.
twin columns narrow the highway
in to greet you.
eyes swallow the light and
it just takes you away.

tires spinning, engine-sputter
a body in the clutter of snow
where the rivers meet.
a night, a day, a night spent
on the ground.

white tail quivers red, shudders
coughing, mutters, crossing streets
toward rivers.

fender bent-in, shaped like a sweater
street cooking, burning bridges
you're never gonna stop, never.
eyelids flicker, pupils bigger
drinking in light little by little.

I hate not knowing a dream
From a memory.
Like is that tattoo on your shoulder
Real?
You're too distant for me to test it gently.
My hand even shakes at the thought
Of its flesh reuniting with yours
Oh god,
My fingers whimper like dogs,
Begging for more.

But there's nothing to touch.

I think I've been here before
But your things are a bit fuzzy,
Like the drawings on your door
That I never laid attention to.
This night can't be real
Because it's going too well.
But I'll keep up the charade
Even though, I know, your eyes are gray
Not blue.
I'll pretend not to notice a little longer.

Maybe I should have stayed asleep.

Dreams leave me hungry for the real
Taste of you
That I won't wake up to.
I can't remember your precious voice but
Before I woke up you said,
"Moving on for me is just as hard."
But I knew that statement couldn't be true
Even from a dreamed you.

I let my eyes unfocus
--Late at night--
To give them a break.
I let mint-speckled skies
Double
When I stop paying attention.

I don't wear socks anymore
--Because--
I'm tired of pretending
To feel warm-
Warmth walked right out along with you.
A billion layers
Only bring me a cold sweat.

I might acquaint my head
--Brashly-- with the wall
Because
I can't relearn how to
Fall asleep.
I wouldn't bother trying either-
You're going to be on the other side of my pillow.

I might as well
Learn to play
--Guitar--
So I can make these words hurt as much in my mouth
As they do in my head.

What's it feel like to be a monster?
How hard is it,
Trying to apologize when your own twisted teeth
choke you?
I wonder what you think about when you look
in the mirror.
I wonder.
How you even live in that skin,
it's a mystery.
You spend nights self-medicating
to deal with the fact,

But isn't that where it all started?

Some addictions don't follow your parents' definition,
Or tuck into a textbook nicely.
Some addictions don't follow pills or bottles,
Or chase them down the drain.
Some addictions follow places or people,
Always and forever, again and again.
But one thing's for certain
An addict's an addict
And a burden's a burden.

Don't fall in love with a poet.
You'll live forever in their words
And haunt them forever with yours.

it blooms in your mouth
as soon as you think of it
it starts in the middle
and stretches to your cheeks
it grows feet and kicks at your lips.
you can hold it in but it
wants to spread, and
it'll press on your tongue
react with it, rub your teeth thin.
because in there,
it's an in-between
and it wants to loom, to grow, to be.

It's a shame I wasn't the one to break your heart;
You would have made a better poet.

You said "I don't really dream,"
That time I told you my nightmares
I didn't believe you then
But now it makes sense.
Because what could a monster's worst nightmare
Possibly be?
Maybe it's me,
Just repeating all the scary things you said
Words that sent my heart to teeter
Over the cliff in my mouth.
When you blow through sin so wildly,
What could possibly scare you?
Maybe the cracked-mirror face you wear
Stops you from clearly seeing your fears
Or maybe you've been so scared before that
Nothing else can compare.
Maybe some tall secret keeps you in its shadow,
In a permanent nightmare.
So what happens at half past four
When the room is spinning and you
Fall just short of your bed
And sink into the floor
Do you even sleep at all?
Are you even alive anymore?
I think.
I think,
That they tortured you and told you it's okay
That the world locked you in a yellow wallpaper room
Where the paint soured and curled in on itself
Like thoughts spoiled in your head from holding on too long.

You are why I stutter through stories

There's ****** up,
Then there's
Ruining yourself enough
To forget you and your circumstances
Just for a few hours of sleep.

why'd it take you breaking my heart
In two, to
Make you a better person?

Put your trust in me?
I don't think so.
I'll leave you and you'll die alone.

Let's put this to bed
And put me to sleep
Before I get out of hand.
Let's put this to bed
Before you start to believe in
My fabricated sincerity.
I'll kick myself all the way home.

Please let me run away
Before I have to wipe the blood
From that exit wound.
Let me run far away
From the thud of your heart
Echoing through my chest.

This wasn't always me
It's not the way I was supposed to be.
I should have been more scared of the cold.

Pops and cracks and a dialing tone
I wish not seeing you was a choice
But at least the real you would be better than the noise
Of your muffled message at the end of the phone
That you had choked out as an excuse to be alone.
My memory wanes with each futile call that destroys;
The empty rings grow more familiar than your voice
And the bad connection begs to be disowned.
Our last conversation is my driving thought
For calling as if I thought you'd be there
I'm holding onto things I think you should know.
Heartbeats twitch in regret over fights we fought
Impatient phone calls were your least favorite I swear,
But I'm clinging tightly to your ghost, waiting for a hello.

Why would you stop watering a plant
Because a leaf or two has wilted
That doesn't make it dead yet.
Don't leave the flower ***
Empty with regret.
And if you really think it's dying,
Why wouldn't you keep the leaves from drying?

I've been thinking lately how
People are too keen to throw out
Things that aren't completely broken.
I think maybe we've all grown too wasteful.
And I think maybe you've grown too hateful.
Always on the attack, turning bitter with the winter,
I'm scared to admit this love has grown fatal.
Maybe it's just the weather...
I wish it would have stayed November forever.

Lately the people I see around
Have been all-too-focused on choking
On the ways we were told how to feel
Not all of us always let love be real.
It looks like you fell victim to the culture.

Being in love doesn't have an expiration date
I don't know who taught who that
But either way I'm tired of watching you turn around
And around, and around,
Not sure whether to go west or east.
I guess it doesn't matter,
As long as it's not with me, right?

I'm sick of you exploiting distance as a problem
Distance doesn't hold a candle to feeling
Spend some ******* time dealing with demons--
And meaning it, stop screaming at me and
Sleeping through meetings.
But most of all, understand--
That love isn't fleeting.

I want you to know that
I don't think "us" is something we can't
Be, but
I'm finally over hearing you taunt me with:
"I'm tired of watering the dead plant."

Words crawl into my ears and they
Settle down there.
Occasionally stirring,
Reminding me
Of things people spoke to me
And my ears ache just like the first time.
Funny,
They only stir when I'm trying to sleep.

Sometimes the words remind me that
Maybe I'm not meant to be a memory
All I've been is no more than a worry,
Spreading guilt on the guiltless.
Pleading for pity.

As if closing my eyes
Would make the taunts go
Away
Maybe the kid with tears in his eyes
Is all I'm supposed to be.

But what if I don't want to feel this way?

There's something so empty in your voice.
Not a sadness, or a longing.
But rather your "something human"
Long since gone.

Something is missing,
Something is not quite right.
Is it a draft slipping in through your ribcage, whistling out through your teeth?
I can hear it snake by so easily, with all the hollow underneath.

You sit on long metal tables,
Each one colder than the last.
Doctors always asking where it hurts.
Do you ever feel tired of not having an answer?
Have you ever lifted up your shirt
And showed them what you can't say?
Or are you afraid they'd step back and gasp?
Because there's a disgusting gaping hole in you,
That no decent person could fill.

Why does the heart take so long to drain?
The past sticks on the sides like syrup.
Pause the drip. Freeze.
Let the heart harden
Hold its heaviness in your hands.
High above your heads in Gods cloudy tatters
To be heated by the hung up sun
So it expands, then shatters.

You let the world slip inside your bones.
Somewhere, the suffering of life hides
Between that hollowed rib cage, floating.
Echoing off the sides, moaning
In a corresponding murk.
Why did you let it in there?
Why do you keep it caught?

Open it up,
Let holding hope
Be more than enough
Than keeping loved ones hurt
In that thumping heart.

Yeah love is like fire
But what they don't say is
It's connected at the hip
To tender wax
And must be carefully kept.

They don't teach you in class
That you're born walking on
A bed of hot coals
That threaten crackles of heat
Upon verdant soles.
Your parents never told you,
Your life is on fire.

I bet you didn't think
Blue eyes were deceiving.
That they burn hottest
With a flame worth keeping.
There's a reason we crave light in the dark.
There's a reason I crave you in the dark.

Playing with fire is natural
Why did it take me so long
To discover that?

Some days you need
The rain
To sit in your
Gutter, or
Wash the roads
clean of your plans.

Some times the rain
Ends the day
Early
And closes the sun
Behind clouds.
I didn't want
To go out
Anyway.

And on these days
The rain
Hides your own drops
From your face.
What a perfect place to cry.

What a perfect time
To say
Goodbye.

leave all your friends behind,
abandonment.
but adamant
leaving was only an accident;
you miss us.
what took you so long?

you keep coming back
and back and back
repeating the past.
i'm growing attached again
mismatched against
your flighty love in the aftermath.

it's funny you say you love us
selling it like a snake oil pitch
but we're the first to feel the itch
of fresh baked blame
branded across our bodies.
you're always on the attack
then falling away from us
a deadly one-two
the back-to-back.

i laughed when you said you missed me:
you didn't stay long enough to mean it.
you leave your mark by
stealing places and people
or else sleeping with them.
it's your trick, it's a staple.
clutching onto numbers, waiting for sequels
but not as good as the first, right?

if playing with the world is what gets you high,
what am i?
what am i?
am i your favourite toy?
am i your favourite

you keep coming back
and back and back
repeating the past.
i'm growing attached again
mismatched against
your flighty love in the aftermath.

don't think of me like that.
a toy, a drug, a god-given fact.
a hit and then a month of silence.
and i wish i could pretend
you weren't coming back.
if you love something, set it free
or at least let me be.

you've stopped coming back
and i've unpacked the past.
like fleeting memories
falling off pages
i've grown attached again.
mismatched against
your flighty love and it's aftermath.

what took me so long?

Some people erupt from under the stars
Soaked in drizzling nighttime coats, and
Draped inside and out with magnetizing mystery.
They swallow a captive gaze
From worlds away.

Some people shine with something darker than dark
And all eyes shimmer with the sight of them
Even after
They’ve turned the other way
At a mile a minute.
Some people were designed for attention left in mark.

Some people never grow weary of gravity
So it lends more force, correcting disparity.
A lung-occupied chest could cave inward,
Easily,
Living under the same roof with that
Beautiful magnitude of breath.

Some people live in between pages--
They’ll never have to sleep, like we all have to sleep
Always dancing on the teetering edge of day
And night.
Somehow still swimming
In the blur, between beginning and end.
Some people blown into existence are scheduled to be statues
Some people lost too soon, like you,
Were made to be immortal.