the only thing in the world I could ask for right now is to bring you into my arms
and feel you softly breathe into my neck
but I'm stuck in the confinement of seeing you maybe once a month
and the best thing I can do is clutch this shirt that smells like you
and wish that you were in my presence
but it's not enough
no
it's not e-*******-nough
and it's never gonna be
so I guess you could say
I'm about as good as this shirt.
brings slight comfort.
but it's never enough

Lately
You've been
The only thing
That makes me feel
Not dead

I can't say alive
Because
I can't call this living
Breathing
Eating
But not living

You make me feel as though
I have a reason
And for you
I will do my best
To live

The first time I kissed a girl
Was 6th grade
I was nervous
Palms drenched in sweat
It was possibly the most awkward moment of my 12 year old life

There was other kisses
But it wasn't until about a week into freshmen year
I truly kissed a girl
We sat face to face
Talking
Laughing
Our eyes locked
Slowly my eyes ran down her face and to her lips

Out of the blue I introduced my lips to hers
It was then that I realized that there's a difference between a kiss, and touching your lips to someone else's
I now knew what it felt like to be in sync with someone

It made me realize that the best things in life aren't ever planned

"What the **** just happened"
"I don't know, but I think it needs to happen again"

I am stubborn.

I would probably stub my toe on the same leg, of the same table, repeatedly, over some period of time, instead of making sure that said table, and said leg, never meet, my poor little toe.

Which is fairly easy, but instead, I must now walk awkwardly, because it hurts to put pressure on my bruised foot. I curse under my
breath. I am upset, yet,

I'm not sure if I can simply stop falling.

I am stubborn.

I would probably break my heart, by entrusting it to the wrong hands, of the same girl, repeatedly, over some period of time, instead of making sure that said hands, and said girl, never meet, my poor little heart.

Which sounds fairly impossible, so instead, I must now breathe awkwardly, because the bruise placed inside my chest is unbearable.
I curse at myself for breathing, I am in agony, yet,

I'm not sure if I can simply stop falling.

i must admit i am in awe of the way you walk past the immigration office
(or the way you walked out that door, but we musn't dwell on things.)

like you have nothing to hide - like secrets float off your cheek
(it's rather silly how your secrets are much more obvious when you toss and turn underneath my sheets.)

therapists told me to take a journey well into my soul
(they told me to dive, but we both know i'm only capable of unintentionally falling.)

i love watching your hands loosen their grip on the sides of the aeroplane seats
(although remembering you loosen your grip on me isn't quite as pleasant)

they told me to visit my happy place so i threw a dart at the map
(but let's be honest - without you home already feels like a hotel.)

and it amazes me how now with all the rust you've smothered onto my veins, you still expect me to walk peacefully through airport metal detectors.