I lay awake
hour after hour
while you did the same
in the very next room.

You've told me before just
how apprehensive you become
when the page is empty
and the stakes are high.
You have high hopes,
but when you bade me
"good night and sleep well"
I did see the flicker
of doubt-insomnia-excitement
hiding just behind your tired smile
like a candle in the wind.

It is near impossible to sleep
when you lie awake,
when love lies awake
in the next room.

But I am a coward,
afraid of losing you
long before I can call you mine.
And so I while away the hours
wondering if you want me
to walk down the passage
and crawl into your bed
just as much as I do.

We lie awake instead,
praying that sleep takes us
and carries us across the boundary
separating yesterday and tomorrow.
To take you to a bright tomorrow
me; into another lovesick Monday.
But sleep evades us
It is near impossible to sleep
when I know you lie awake
and love lies awake
in the very next room.

I am still me.

Still me.

I want to shout it from the highest places, just so that you can hear it and understand. Hear it and believe it. Hear it and trust me.

Still me.

Because that girl who dug around your garden and nearly ate night shade berries still exists. The one who crawled around on the carpets, playing with toy cars, she's still here. The child who sat cross-legged on the counter tops licking icing off her fingers is still alive.

She's still in here. Waiting for the day she sees the entire world. Pretending that she can fly even when the world has clipped her wings time and time again. Watching rain streak down the windows, admiring the ladies who traipse around in Victorian dresses when we watch those films you love.

She still awws at every sweet thing she stumbles across. And still hopes against all hope that she will live in an ancient forest. Who still adores Joan of Arc and loves to read poetry out loud.

Still me.

Still over watering plants because I have no idea when to stop giving.

Still up in the middle of the night dreaming.

Still singing.

Still here.

Still me.

That simple truth shouldn't change your opinion of me. Because it doesn't change who I am.

Some days I go from top speed to a dead halt in the same amount of time it takes to unlock a door or flip a light switch.

And when I'm standing still, it's hard not to feel like everything around me is crashing down and shattering. And it's loud. It's in my face. Etched onto my skin. Burned into my memory.

But somehow, I'm still here. After the thundering collision and the screeching of tires. I'm still here. In the middle of the crossroads. Still breathing. Still standing. Still here.

Because there are a few strings keeping me from crumbling. And here and there an iron rod that will not let me fall. Small truths and sentiments that shout louder and whisper sweeter than any of my thoughts ever could:

"someone cares" "you matter to me"

"don't walk alone" "careful" "would you like a hand?" "how was your day?" "you're smart too" "I like your face"

It brings me back. Back to that crossroads: my past behind me. A vast future ahead. Calling, beckoning the same way you do with that smile on your lips, your hand outstretched. And even in my clumsy fingers I will grasp it.

And follow.

From 0 to 5, to 10. To 20. To 30. To 40.

Slowly propelled forward yet again, out of the darkness my mind pulls up and around my shoulders like a shroud. Out of the ******* currents that pull me down. Out of the shadows where my bones grow cold.

Into the light and glow of countless stars. Each perfect, each warm. Each far away and watching from their perch upon your shoulders, your arms, your cheeks. Each inviting in the way a warm bed calls on rainy days.

Let me follow. Let me fall. Let me sink into your embrace and tell you how afraid I was today. Let me bare my soul, and make me strong. So that one day. If you should hear the collision and smell the smoke, I will be there to lift you out of the wreckage and hold you to my chest. The way you do now.

That one day I won't need saving from myself. But love fearlessly instead.

I have finally found it
a single switch to cure all my ailments.
Led by old heartaches whispering new phrases
and ancient fears with different faces.
Wary looks and tired eyes
aching bones and empty rooms
that rend my hopeless heart
and scar it afresh.

"You're not suited for each other"
and "you will fall out of love"
echoes down these dark halls
like an ominous sea
rearing back and baring teeth
before it swallows me whole.
And though I promise to walk away
should it ever be too much to bear,
I know. I know. I know.

I know it in my heart
that I will break with every step that carries me away.

And I am not sure what it is
that I feel anymore
because lost, hopeless, substandard
are the only words I can make out
among the deep ruts in my mind.
Even when I know
that once the words lovely, splendid and beautiful
were written on my skin.

Though I have no way of knowing,
I agonise, I rant and rave.
Could I do it? Would I be brave enough?
To shut down every thing I feel?

My tongue and my heart have betrayed me.
And though I curse
these wondering and doubts,
I do not regret
saying those simple words.

We lay together in bed,
and while I showed you all my scars,
you counted all the things
you loved about me
on the tips of your fingers.
You moved closer-
close enough to hear the hammering
of my hopeless heart.

Your elbow brushed mine.
          and I allowed myself to remain within reach.
Close by, where your still-damp hair
begged for my fingers to caress,
reach out - tenderly touch.
It would have been so easy
to weave my fingers through yours
or to rest my head on your shoulder.
But my mind wouldn't leave me
and before I caught them;
my words had betrayed me.

"I really like you"
slipped out somewhere in the dark
and the echo returned to me.
You threw your arm over me then,
pulled me close enough
to breathe the smell of rain and earth
you carry like a perfume.

You let me let you hold me
until we could bear it no more.
And I fell asleep listening
to the rhythm of your breathing
singing sweet songs in the dark.

Fluttering about, they crowd the skies,
their wax-paper wings catching warm breezes.
And my stomach does the same,
the way the earth falls away
when you walk too close to the edge
-giddy with anticipation
of a moment that will never come.
Never be mine.

Your hand brushes mine-
and accident I know,
but my heart can't help;
it leaps and sings for joy.
And once again I churn over the thought,
the possibility of perhaps
letting you catch me staring
at the way the light settles on your shoulders.

If I were to let my eyes wander
across your jaw, skip across your lips.
Let myself admire the stardust
scattered across your cheeks
and the gentle ***** of your brow.
If I only had the courage
to explore the endless depths of your eye
like a sailor at sea.

I'd drown.

You are far too wonderful
and I have no answer
as to what I must do
when the need to weave my fingers
through yours overtakes me.

So I pray to Artemis, Sappho, Persephone,
any who would heed my call:
that you might look at me,
and perhaps grow to love me
in that same way.
That when I summon up the courage,
they might soften my fall
and slow my descent.

dear heart of mine;
What you desire is something I cannot give,
since her words, her gaze
must never be mine.

To want for nights in her arms
softly composing verse
is futile.
And to wish for her lips
to seek out yours in the dark
is foolish,
beyond hope,
beyond reason.

She cannot be yours.
-will not.
Must not.

Because on a feeble ledge you wait:
her as your counter.
A single step
and surely you will let her fall.
Speak of your affection only to tear apart
the careful stitching of time and fate
that brought you here in the first place.

Be careful foolish heart
not to undo such bonds
for you are not as heroic as you presume.
You would perish
if you were to walk alone again.