We're falling in love in reverse.

Julie was a winner.

Her eyes were made of stars
that had fallen off the sky
and they twinkled every time
she smiled.

She had dreams, and ambitions,
she did not ride on high horses,
she did not trust the words of great men,
but followed her own sense of direction.

She loved life,
and a boy who never could understand
what love actually meant.

Like flowers in spring,
her madness grew in vivid colors
and she could feel the surge
in her veins.

She was a like a flower.

And like a flower in the fall,
today was the day,
she decided to die.

She took a deep breath,
and drowned herself in cold lavender-scented bathwater,
falling into the forgotten forevers
to lie quietly, finally complete.

Julie wasn't a lie,
she was just me.

My mind is a tinderbox.

Only awaiting a reminder of
the taste of your breath and your many loves
to spark up and light a deadly fire.

It is vulnerable to hate, jealousy and other
fiery emotions,
and more than once have you deliberately
caressed the ends of this box
with an emery touch.

It feeds on past sensations of the skin,
forgotten beatings of the heart,
and promises only skin deep--
they are still just the sensations
from crosses you made on your chest.

It is a bubble, waiting to burst.

But make no mistake,
it is very powerful.
Do not, and I repeat, do not
let yourself be swept away with fuzzy emptiness
and homely tempts.

It is awaiting only a weak moment.
Like a swish of warm breath
on a stack of old dry grass,
to start a fire so bright
you have to squint.

So you left and I got into a car and drove up to the hills.
I drenched my eyes in the green hues of the trees and
drank the misty air.
I filled my lungs with fresh emotion and said,
"Oh boy, where have I been?"

I put my feet in the water, and felt the feelings gush in.
I felt my cheeks turn wet and my eyes raining
and you come flashing into my mind--
yes, I regret it--
I regret you.

You arise from phoenix ashes and hide beneath the bed.
You are a knife stuck in my chest, twisting in with every heart beat.
You are a lost opportunity and a scar on the wrist.
You are my lost love.

So what if you are sorry, you think I care that I have become
a part of the dust neath your carpet, struggling to revive.
Yes, I would like to hurt you, and hurt you so badly
you feel the need to caress me again.

I drove up to the hills, a place where you are not
and I realized, that happiness is really just sitting down and eating
cheap Chinese out of melamine plates and putting your feet in the water
and thinking we'll learn from our mistakes.

I took a paper and a pen and sat down to write
a plan on how I was going to make a time machine--
because I had to, I had to go back in time and change your mind--
but I flew past papers and entire diaries and I know there is
no more ink
left in this world to continue writing.
Yet, I still have no more than a mite of sense
in a huge mathematical mess
of fractions, functions and graphs, and sad handwriting.

I put together my math with metal and I scoured the earth looking for the exact things to perfect my monster creation
and satisfy the algorithms.
Time was not going anywhere and you are awaiting my perfect words that I actually tell you,
and stop you from taking the step outside the door.
I spent, seven years to just put together the courage
to finally plug the machine
into the socket-- a humble four-point in the wall and all it took was the turn of a switch.

I spent years and all my time and all my youth,
all my mind and all my life creating a time machine,
so that I fly by the light, going back into the time to that very day
when I first saw you and take a the seat in the back of the train
instead of the one next to you.
I would take the one opposite to where you sat and refuse to even look at you.
Because then, we will not begin something we would never be able to end.

I am here now and all it takes is the turn of a switch,
a time machine to end all of the worries.
A turn of a switch and I would be able to fix all my life;
I created this thing with all my life, so that I can forget you.

And glory! I am successful.
I forget you, but not by the power of a time machine
but I forget you nonetheless.

I set my room on fire and jump out of the window.

I could take care of you-- I can make up your bed,
make up your mind; I could colour the sky from blue to gray--
not because you are sad but because it is your favourite colour.
I could do the math, hold up the papers, read to you at night.
I would come and comfort you when you cannot sleep.
Draw the curtains to wake you.
Fix you where you are broken; I’ll use the perfect words.
I can make you smile; I could lie on the floor with you
and create dust angels and then hold your hand and watch
the world around us gently fall apart.

Like some sort of sordid fantasy in the tangles
of my subconscious belief, I
think that maybe some things must be waited upon to make come true.
That I must wait for the dream to unfurl, like the petals holding
tightly onto you and my talks to the mirror.

You have no idea of how terribly, insanely, amazingly
I can put my feelings
to words and not in my voice, that you are awaiting to read my mind and
my hopeless efforts to convey the feelings I hide so poorly
behind incredulous yarns of vocabulary.

I must wait, I tell myself for I, wait so intensely for my illusions
to come to life.
That you put to words the thoughts in my head without me
telling you so--
that you have read it all, the words, the thoughts and all else
and you love it without obligations.

But alas, have you found me, in the depths of oblivion
and I see a smile beginning to mark your face, for yes
you have found me and my words, dancing to the endless sonata
of feeling shy and courageous, all at the same time.