Loving you was like pulling the pin out of a hand grenade* then dropping it, and expecting it to not blow up in your face.

Moments pass.
Fleeing into the darkness that is our concept of time.
Fleeting moments.
The passing of time.

I love you, she says.
She speaks with certainty.
A certainty laced with darkness and ice.
A chill against her ribs.
She's not enough.

I need reasons, he says.
He speaks with a need for understanding.
Needing to understand how she could be so cold.
He fears she'll change her mind.

She blinks back the tears.
The words freeze in her throat.
Thousands of hornets in her brain.

He stares at her face.
Wondering what she's thinking.
Something he just can't figure out.

She tries to articulate reasons.
Trying to describe her certainty.

He fights to stay calm.
Surrounded by her destruction.

She believes in logic.
Meanings.
Choices.

He believes in numbers.
Reason.
Fate.

She squeezes her thoughts into simple sentences that she cannot get past her teeth.
Choose your moments.
Choose your meanings.
Nothing is certain unless you choose for it to be certain.
This time she has the easiest choice.
She feels it in her gut.
Deep in her bones.
He is her future.
He is her greatest desire.

She's overthinking.
Searching for pretty words.
Floral sentences.

She will choose him.
Every time she will choose him.
A thousand times over.
Without the blink of an eye.
She will always choose him.

She knows this.
She's made her choice.
She is certain.

She sees her future with him.
Children with dark hair and honey eyes.
Soft grass beneath their bare feet as they dance around in endless summer.
She burns with the desire to take his name.

He didn't leave her.
He decided to stay.
He chose her.

She left a wake of destruction.
A minefield of betrayal.

He stayed out of his love.

She can't imagine someone loving her that much.
Enough to stay through her explosions.
To love her in the wreckage.

She never believed that someone could make her want to breathe.
That someone could make her want to wake up in the morning.

He is her reason for keeping the blood within the confines of her veins.

She knows that he is the one who will stand beside her for always.

She trusts him.
She doesn't show it.
But she's learning.
Trying.
She's fighting for it.

She will learn to let him in.
She will learn to let him truly love her.
She will learn how to be part of a whole.

With him by her side, she can conquer.
They will conquer.
Together.
As one.

He is still waiting.
Patiently.
Waiting for an answer to depart from her lungs.
She loves his patience.
She values his time.

She writes this in silence.
In hopes that he will soon understand her reasons.
Her choices.

She will keep trying.
Until there's nothing left to be said.
Until her vocabulary is exhausted.
She will continue to prove this love she has for him.

He is her home.
He is her future.
The father of her children.
The husband she waits for.

He is her heart

We don't know where we are going to land
Whose arms we find ourselves in
When the fuse finishes with a puff of smoke
It's not over.
This is the best part of it
Whose arms we find ourselves in.
Brace for impact
Be ready
Catch the broken pieces we can't hold together

The human being is an inherently contentious creature.

Seven billion rock-wall eyes;
Eyes staring belligerently down seven billion sharp noses;
Noses affixed to seven billion faces;
Faces covered in creases and scars,
Framed in unruly hair
And outlined in stark exactness
By the flames cowering in bipedal shadows.

Into the human heart is chiseled "inexorable".
We are an incongruence:
We row up the rapids,
Scale the waterfall
And taunt the oily heavens from atop Devil's Tower.

We will always get what we want,
Whether it involves killing the albatross
Or playing Gondorff's chess.
Whether we wrest it from Gaia's grasp
Or that of our more miserly peers.

Robert C. crystalised our resolve.

The riot gear-clad Blue and Green with timers in their throats
Stand abreast.
Chanting "Listen to Mother. Mother knows best.",
They begin the forward press.

When an impish grenade leaps our way,
We fling it back between mouthfuls of chips.

The barricades erected
By Mother and ourselves alike
Are many and implacable and incessant,
But they will be broken and overtaken.

They will be broken and overtaken by us,
The humans,
Because we are.

I was your Hazel Grace
Because I thought I was a grenade

I was in my final year in high school when I started liking you
And soon I would leave the same school we were into

I, and the people around us
We became dependent of your actions
And you made us believe that you liked me, too

So much depends upon this boy I really liked
behind his eye glasses were his eyes that had
always been sending me love letters
that I always wanted to reciprocate
his stunning smile made him look grand every time

So much depends upon this rebel heart
that I was ironically obedient to
Because not granting what this heart wanted
would **** me a hundred times

Until the day came that I needed to leave you
I thought leaving would hurt harder than a heart break
But you were the one who left
And that was when I started believing
that I was not the grenade I once thought I would be
but it was you

*You left me wounded

But I tried to tell him he was a star
He IS a star.
A dying star
In need of a shock wave of air.
I could be that air.
I keep saying that,
But it's a lie.
For he's a grenade.
Destroying everything in his path.

There are blurry holes in the words that I am reading, just like you.

An image with these holes that doesn't make sense.

I don't understand why I still think of you in this way.

It's not much thinking, maybe more wondering.

I wonder and wander up a swirling spiral staircase that sways and creeps beneath my feet.
I reach the corner of the empty old room.

My nervous quivering fingers feel the pin on the dusty grenade.
The one that lies in the highest corner of my mind.

So simple would it be to pull it
but once it is out,
it could never be put back in.
It wouldn't be a grenade any longer.

Would there be an aftermath following the explosion of every emotion
running wild in my brain?

Or would the corner be empty, waiting, to be filled with something new?

A flower could grow from the rubble,
that's the positive thing to say.

It would most likely be worse than a grenade.
An atomic bomb built for pain.

But if you just told me the reason why, you could get out of my head.

You are a body with a grenade attached at the neck
in place of your head.

A surreal image, of course I would pick that.
Of course, that's what you would tell me.

I wouldn't say a word.
Just let my hands touch the weapon,
feel the cold metal of the pin in my palm.

It could be so quick to pull.
So tempting.

Then the reason comes in
and tells me it's best to
let you sit and collect dust.

Enough little gray particles to cover your entirety.
So that I will forget you.

There will always be a time when I'm vulnerable.
I will dust you off a bit to see what you are.

The thoughts will flood back quickly My hand will reach for the split second mass destruction.

Reason will grab my hand
I will crumble into him again.