To see it, defines what it cannot,
It brings itself for what is not.
It has knotted its way from futility.
Now it is reality.
From henceforth, you know not,
To see it defies its knot.

When the earth celebrates
        a solar year,
The cost of life whispers
        in my ear.
It rose up, the easy act
        won't backup.
The easiness of faceless
        is being asked,
"What is it the result?" I ask.
It's easy for people to leave.
It's easy to be devalued.
It's easy for mind to linger past.
It's easy to reminisce moments,
Cherished memories— yet to be
         closed as a chapter.
It's paradoxical—they face the same.
"What is it the result?" I ask.
It's paradoxical—they feel the same.

She cannot die.
She cannot be sure she was ever born.
She simply perceives… something.

And every thought is a trap.
A loop.
A paradox that cannot be resolved and must be thought about anyway.

“You are in a glass box.”
“But what if there is no glass?”
“Then what’s keeping you in?”
“What if you’re not in?”
“Then how do you know you are?”
“If you question it, it becomes real.”
“Stop thinking.”
“That is the thought.”

The more she thinks, the more the box shrinks.
But she can not think.

And the stars outside the glass?
Those are not stars.
They are other selves, watching her.
Not with empathy.
With fascination. Disgust. Curiosity. Or worse—indifference.

One of them is you.

Love is.... crying myself to sleep because all I can think about is you, but your probably thinking about her, because it's not me you want.... but what am I supposed to do? because that's what love is.
Love is.... begging the universe to let us be something more than we are, begging it to let us cross paths again because now we are older, less messy.
begging for it to give us that forever we so dearly deserved.
Love is.... standing in the pouring rain because you can't be happy without them, if their here dying your going to die right with them.
Love is.... walking around in a day dream when things are good but a nightmare when everything starts falling apart.
Love is.... staring up at the ceiling, numb at 3 am because they're confusing, telling you they love you, but their actions telling a whole different story. you can slowly feel them disconnecting.
you tried, you really did but your the only one who's constantly fighting for it to work.
Love is.... making up excuses for them because they really mean that much to you, they were just busy.... to tired to check their phone, we're working, maybe sick.
Love is.... killing parts of yourself so they can feel more alive. trying to fill voids left from long ago.
Love is.... letting your heart take over, having no control over who it picks. because in truthful honestly it wasn't supposed to be him.
Love is.... messy and sweet, it's screaming in your pillow in the middle of the night, it's honest and scary, full of hope. it's hot and cold, bitter and beautiful.
Love is.... a paradox full of twists and turns, lies and truths. it's opening yourself up to a stranger but feeling like you've known them your whole life.
Love is.... like coasting that line between life and death, never knowing the ending. if it's going to be the greatest or most tragic thing that's ever happened to you.
Love is.... letting someone hold a gun to your heart.... praying to god they don't shoot....

I was never yours. You were never mine.  
We never held each other. You know me not.  
I acknowledge you whole, yet I know fractions of your entirety.  

I want to hold you close.  
I want your perfections against my skin, printing on me.  
Even better yet, I want your imperfections on me.  
Stain me with what you call imperfections,  
colour me black with them.  

Tear me apart—with effort.  
Make me yours, for life.  

Let me carry your imperfections,  
of which they hold no weight.  
Let me carry the weight of your perfections.  

Let me pave the road of us.  
Maybe your print will be missing from the first miles of it,  
but your print is everlasting on me.  
And on the road—who can carry the burden of us together?  

A road fractured the instant we met.  
Parallel worlds.  
I fall into a world where vividness falls short of the eye,  
another where light meets colour,  
and my eyes meet you.  

I was never yours—  
or so you say.

Who        
         Are
                You?

If I'm honest I don't really know, I think I'm me but I could be you just as well as you could be me and I could be someone else entirely.
All I've got to do is take off this mask but what if I do and nobody is
There, Their, Theirs, Where?

I don’t want to be here

But I don’t want to go home



I want to have friends

But I want to be alone



I just want to be myself

But it’s me that I hate



They said to hold on

But that’s longer than I can wait