I crave
The smell of old books,
The aroma of coffee shops,
The touch of the rain
And the feel of the sun on my face

Deep conversations
About the meaning of our purpose
Discovering ourselves
Uncovering ourselves
From all our disguises
And fake faces

I want the truth
The feeling of true connection,
with compassionate eyes
That understand mine.

The feeling of the earth
With my bare feet

I will open up and tear myself apart
Pour myself over
Like a cup of tea
To find my sweet.

It will be worth it

I want to sleep, but there are only twenty four hours in a day and the ones normally set aside for sleeping are now dedicated to midnight conversations with you.

my mouth dries from too much caffeine and my head becomes dehydrated
a beetle the size of a thimble slips into my coffee and makes his way into my throat
floating into a tunnel where there's only flooded acid at the bottom waiting for you
all the music is beginning to sound the same and I can't tell them apart at parties
when they ask my opinion my feet vibrate and I try to calibrate all the laughing boys in the back of my head to what I think I know
but the noise tosses my sentences into word salads
unwavering in your methods the song never ends and the candy never dissolves in your mouth completely
you can measure the distance and the dissonance of the people you've met under your belt like a buckle tightening inside a car when it stops