Curiosity is an incurable disease, and thank goodness for that.

I want to know every single thing about you.

I want to know the way you wake up in the morning.
I want to know how you fall asleep at night.
I want to know what your morning routine is.

I want to watch you yawn and stretch in the mornings.
I want to watch you laying in bed like a burrito.
I want to watch your face light up when you read this.

I want to feel your arms around me.
I want to feel you sweep me off my feet.
I want to feel your hand in my own.

I want to know every single thing about you.

I want to flip through the pages of your open book.
I want to start from the very beginning.
All of the hurt,
the joy,
the loss,
the love,
the sadness,
and the desire.
I want to experience it all with you.
I will dread reaching the very last words,
but until then, let me flip through the pages of your open book.

What's on your mind?
And where are you
going alone?
Painted bones
On your phone
And did you know?
Writers like me
Love wondering
Who you could be

How oft do you
go far from home?
For business or
pleasure? Only
time for thinking?
If you were me
you'd wish you were
Somewhere drinking

But you
Aren't me
Are you?
And that's
The beau-
Ty of
it all.

Does she hold you like I used to?
When you were too scared to
pick your head up from my shoulder?

Does she hum to you at night like I used to?
When your mind was too restless
to allow you to close your eyes?

Does she make you laugh like I used to?
When you'd stop only because you felt
like your stomach was on fire?

Does she make you feel bothered like I used to?
Does she make you feel mad like I used to?
Does she make you want to scream like I used to?

Was I ever even enough for you?
Will she ever even be enough for you?
Will she write one of these poems four years from now like I am?
Will she wonder what she ever did to deserve the hurt you caused?
Will she prevail? Will she crumble?

I'm still trying to figure out which one I'm doing.
You have made my life confusing.

Will I ever feel comfortable holding someone again?
Will I ever hum to another late at night?
Will I ever tell a joke just to hear another laugh?
Will they ever make me feel like you did?

Will she wonder the same things four years from now?
Will she think about me then?
She took what was mine
and in the end I wouldn't
be surprised if someone
took what she though
was hers.

Live life like death is just an idea.
To scribble down the pros and cons of your very existence.
To love like hate is a common ancestor for all of us mortals.
To dance with feet that jump around as if they were on hot sand.
I loved life with the perverted joy of Venus' moons.
I hated death with the white hot heat of one thousand suns.
I didn't mind the cold burn of the tiled bathroom floor each morning
Or the stuffy humidity of my old car.
I just wanted life.
I just wanted warmth.
I just wanted to learn
How to: live life like death is just an idea.