I wasn’t put on this earth to love you, but I want to
I am tilting; head back to the stars, already dead, screaming:
I want to, I want to, I want to!
and my head turns to my heart and says:
'please stop, you’re scaring me!'
and my heart turns back to my head and says:
'scared? you should be, but it will be good, so good, so ******* worth everything'.

I wasn’t constructed with a purpose,
I was born human and all I was made for is this:
to live, to die, to briefly exist.
That's all there is. This is it.
But there you are, something more,
vaguely magnificent in a way humans haven't made words for
and I want it, I want it, I want it.

I wasn’t made with any know how;
I'm not even a bit decent at being a person
and I have only grown to know who that person is, not how to be it
not properly, not today with the way the world is
but I want, and I want, and I want:

to go to the beach when it rains
and to write a thousand confession letters
and to sit in the quiet with your hand around my ankle
and to dance around a living room to a song I showed you
and to cry over things I could never explain
and to be in the same place as you, at a different time
and to be in the same place as you, nearly all the time
and to know it wasn’t fate but that’s okay
and to not be afraid
and to lean into you
and to love, afraid or not
and to thank all the dead stars, and possible gods and half truths for making me human at the same time as you
and you
and you
and you
and you
and you

you don’t feel it anymore
it is not fair to cry liar in the face of modesty
humor me, irony,
that the novelty of loving me hasn’t yet faded
yet here we are, both jaded by lack of communication
we are numbed,
neither of us notice the ghostly touch of distant thumbs
as they prey on rain kissed cheeks,
these secrets we still keep,
the summer heat that steeped in has long since seeped back out,
a wanderer.
today was the day i finally died
and it felt like nothing.

the thing is i’m exhausted all the time and i’m down right tired of it, and of how it somehow seems to correspond directly with how frequently you’re on my mind.

we don’t talk anymore is a sentence sending a plague of chills down my spine; a sentence that has long since been plaguing my mind, throwing handfuls of cheap words to empty lines.

i am wary, wandering around under the weight of something we never quite were, as it hangs ever heavier on this set of shoulders the months pass in blurs.

i have the most painful urge to dance
specifically all around the room
specifically on cold wooden floors, sock footed
specifically with you
perhaps with the lights off
and light up stars on the ceiling
you see, i have been making a playlist
(of all the songs i want to dance to with you
at 449 songs, it would take us 1.2 days to listen)
please don’t ask me about it
or what I want to come out of it
because I want more than I am allowed to
and there is no way that I could pick and choose
which of those things to tell you
but if I had to pick a single thing to ask for, from you
it would be for one day, full:
(a morning coffee, a long car ride, a foreign coast, something read aloud to me, the press of two shoulders, two palms, maybe a handwritten poem left behind by a ghost, a smile, a sunlit floor, an afternoon dancing until the glow of the sunset fades into evening and a night under two sets of stars, one plastic, and one infinite, no goodbyes)
just a goodnight, and a good morning.

of the three things i love most;
out of everything else in chaotic existence
that would heartlessly end me;
there is only one in which i would be
happy to die by the hand of.
please don’t let me just freeze,
please don’t let me just crash,
please don’t let me just burn,
please don’t let me just suffocate,
please don’t let me just drown—
but let me fall so hard into your arms and
so gently against your mouth,
that it feels like all these things tortuously at once
and i will blissfully
let my existence
fade out.