To feel a lot
is to write nothing.

Emotions too intense,
as if it's at its peak,
that no word is enough
to describe
or deserves to be well-written.

I feel a lot,
but I write something.

Vague, baffling, puzzling,
like the stars up on the sky—
certainly it's there,
millions, hidden by the clouds,
too precious, too deep
to describe
or to be even seen.

I feel a lot,
so I write this.

Each word is encoded
with a heavy heart
and weary mind.

We were two quantities, behaving opposite in nature,
Like pressure and volume, inversely proportional.
We compress and expand at constant temperature—
I expand further, you compress closer; inversely proportional.

You are the R in the Ideal Gas Law's equation,
My constant, my ever-faithful solution.
Yet we aren't truly the ideal gas it seeks to ponder,
For we attract rather than repel one another.

You were the 0.0821,
The constant in PV = nRT.
Increasing in my mind, you remain the only one—
Steadfast in my heart, you will always be loved by me.

the time when you are just seven
the time when you just know odd and even
the time when you don't breakeven
missing that year seven
where we are not mistaken
where we are not longing for affection
where issues are not getting worsen
can we begin again

I will break my skull
Let every single drop
Of my rushing blood
Trickle down my arm
Past my fingertips
And into eternal scrawls
Of ink on paper.