"i Never See You Getting Angry, When I Was Your Age I Used To Be So, So Angry"

it's been 5 years and I still remember your birthday. I don't think I'll ever forget it to be honest. it's been imprinted in my brain and every year around the start of fall, I think of you. and I know I'll be having the same thoughts in 10 years time and we'll still be miles away.

How could you possibly miss someone who isn't corporeal, without shape, without form? I miss him as the sun rises and as it sets. His hands I imagine, hold my face, our ghostly figures fitting together in a perfectly unearthly embrace. He's stunning, he's my darling, more than the boy walking me home ever could be, yet I've never seen his face. He might just be the best my mind has ever made, dethroning the poetry, the equations, the conclusions, my most brilliant manifestation. so sweet, so mature, he always seems to know what I feel before I tell him my thoughts. He knows me better than I know me, and every night we talk, the weights lift, the fog clears and I sleep hugging his shape. I know, I know, if I ever sought to hold his hand, I'll come away with ash and smoke, yet not without knowing our fingers would mold so perfectly together. I search for his face in every boy I meet, he is my voyeur in an empty gallery, he sits behind my eyes and I only hope I don't fall asleep before I meet him tonight. I know not your name, your face, your voice, the color of your hair, your touch. but I do know your gait, your grammar, the food you make, your sigh, your feel, your embrace and know, you're everything I could possibly want. what else is there to falling in love?

Hope’s a terrific tragedy, oh she’s brilliant but what a lazy bee. She's got bloodied knees and dirt on her white lace, she strums her guitar with a common finesse, her bare feet have known many lies, her hands remain scuffed from weaving said lies. Such pretty and poised lips, such a tragedy they only speak your repetitive prophecy, as she sings you to your sweet imminent death, comfortably. Lay your head on her lap won’t you? Her knuckles might gain the color they lost a lifetime ago. you'll find her in bar fights, in the shimmering glitter of casinos. she kisses you before the most important day of your life, so steady, so warm and now as you lie awake, roughly carving out the edges of a hurried plan B, think darling, wasn't it just a casual fling?

I want to be fluent in french so bad.

Walking through the machines, They’d see blued bones Every place you held me in. Bated breaths from them peeling The suitcase we let gather dust, How come we’re on the same flight, Just in different terminals? The plane which took off before mine, carried the longing with it, And what is your love without the yearning mixed in it? Not the shaking when we landed, Face first in deep so called regret, Ignored the rumbling of shoved voices, What could be better than your heart’s erratic noises, When I pass through the crimes of unforgivable circumstances?

you are now now now and its running through your fingers like sand sand sand and you can never stop the flow and it's just electricity between flirting neurons but oh you've never been here before and you never will be here reading this again and its so precious and limiting and infinite and its hard to breathe thinking of how sand slipped and fell and sank just sixty two words ago and in that time it took me to count you've already lived so much, each blink registering the frame of a spark you'll never feel again. it rushes like fire stuck falling. too much to hold not enough to grasp. and the typewriter eternally damns us to the human condition. stops.

(hi) (...)

i finished watching our conversation topic from a couple of months ago. the entire time, you were like a spider traipsing along my thoughts, quietly marveling at the silks you laid, carefully tucking in the corners of the bedspread I never learnt to spread. could you tell me once more, that I don't need to be right all the time? I think my compass is way wire, you haven't been singing for quite some time. my wrist still burns from when you dragged me to wonderland, the quickest film drawn out in painful hours only inside my head. We’ve been here before, the tunnel that won't end is yours, can you blame me for being afraid of heights or futures i can't quite graph on my hand? Won’t you let me scribble over your blue hands one last time? I won’t do it in permanent marker I swear, this last time.

Singing softly as our ship sank

This time our serene notes of joy,

Escaping in bubbles of desperation,

As we cling on to the broken raft of our love.

Silvery sands we walked over,

Footprints smitten but never forgotten,

Quite deftly destroying the perfect arches.

And how long shall we climb the ridges for?

When the light warms the time held in our fingers,

Running through steadily, yet fast,

Shuffling of only the crushed thorns,

Our bare feet sink into the

dissolved, ghostly essence of the past,

And we sit with the light, reminiscing the fall.

Retracing etched cartographies, Leaves trailing and blurring the green into the black of your hair Careful cuts from plucking, thorns left of dreadful affairs Hands tightly wound, because pressure stops the bleeding right? Chasing ripples down the gravel, Skipping stones over the mounds of tapestries we left unraveled, Crawling into shades of optimistically feverish illusions Of questions reduced to rueful omissions And what of the accidental glances you inhaled? Indifferently desperate to show how you could carry us both over the waves And what of the visions that the echoes from trivial flutters held? Just to be ignored, bandaged by what we thought words would mend The rain washed over the crushed leaves, Damaged paths patched over in light of New Year’s Eve Crossed out calendars, our tree’s now grown don’t you see? The tendrils now curl my hair, as if comforting a forgotten maybe. So here I remain, retracing blood inked cartography.