It is the vast fragility of the universe that oh-so-willingly crumbles beneath your gaze.
…My universe.

And I can’t remember the last time I felt the things you make me feel.

Light and airy. Careless Carefree

The arches of your eyebrows. The angles of your jaw. The pools of your eyes. They all encompass me in a way unimaginable.

I write from places you’ve never been. In words you haven’t seen. And I’m wishing you’ll catch me before I fall so far I can’t come back anymore.

I’ve never wanted help. Or to be understood. Just to know you, and you know me.
But I feel like I carry with myself too much baggage for even the largest cargo plane to carry, so why should you?

And now it seems to have come to the point where either I get lighter or you get stronger.
Or we both meet at some undefined point between the two ends to become a whole.

Rememberance is the best trick man has.

I just want to be able to remember again.
I’ve played the tapes in my memory way too many times.
I want to remember, but I don’t quite know now.
Faint memories of lips touching; the barest traces of your fingertips to my hip.
The way your eyes gleamed and twinkled in the soft light of a cheap gas station lighter’s flame when all else around us was darkness.
I want to hate every last memory. And I do this with a sort of frantic desparation. I don’t know why I choose to hate them. It feels better than getting hung up on every last second of every last memory of us together.
It feels a lot better to quit.
This makes me wonder. Are you thinking of me? Are you, somewhere, somehow, reading all I have to say to you? My feelings strewn awbout on frogotten pages written in messy cursive?
Are you thinking of me?