Give you, and I will give me.

All of me and nothing less, nothing less for the one who has my 

heart. And don't act like you don't hurt, like I don't phase you. I 

make you shiver in your sleep. I remind you of Sunday afternoons 

and walking on sand with your eyes closed. I remind you of the 

sound of the ocean.

Inelastic collision - I think that's what they call this. We met, 

somehow, and we never left. We crashed into each other and stayed 

in that state: crooked, broken, destroyed; and all the while, (un)

alone. It was like we forgot how to separate. We forgot the world 

without; we forgot the world. Me and you and me and you and this 

event and that event and then some more me's and you's.

But at what velocity? To what end? Will we never stop running? 

And what are we running from? And where are we running to? 

Who are we becoming? Who were we before? All this colliding 

and no reflection, no analysis, no papers.

What if we're just a concept, an idea, a theory? What if we exist 

only in thought, a model for everyone to follow, but a 

pseudoreality. Unattainable, and therefore perfect. And on a 

Cartesian plane, we are every point on every quadrant, sailing 

towards out there with as much vigour and determination as when 

we met, constant acceleration. What if this never ends.

We will keep going until there is no where left to go. We will find 

others, meet others, love others - but through it all, have each other. 

Despite all else, I will always have a you, and you will always have 

a me. No matter who we are or who we become.

But I'm afraid that someday, this ideal inelastic collision realizes 

just how improbable it is, and it faults. It will start losing its grip, 

and we'll start floating away, out into the ever-stretching out there. 

Then what? Then who? Then where? Everything will start to 

matter.

, all I want is you - will you stay by me? 

Patients.

Don't tell anyone, but my heart is waiting, it's spinning and riding on waves of waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. And all for something that may never come. Some dream that someone else is living, living out in movie reels in my head. Sometimes when I'm sure I can't wait any longer, I do. And then I just give up, I forget why I'm waiting. I forget why I'm holding out, and I'm sure that if anyone tried to ask me, I'd say yes.

I'd say yes in a heartbeat.

But no one ever looks me in the eye, or takes me by the hand, or ever means anything. They just pass me by, talking to me about their own waiting, for their own dreams to come true. Everyone seems to be holding out for someone who doesn't see them, for someone they're sure is there but they've never met. Where does all this hope come from? Definitely not from our cores, because more often than not, we're empty and alone and pointless.

There is love in the air, isn't there? It's a disease, that's what it is. It's airborne. It's in the water, it's in the wind, it's in everything we eat. It's in every handshake, every bowl of mixed nuts, every rim of every glass at every restaurant we've ever been. It enters and it never leaves, it comes in with all this wanting and all this alrightness and it sucks all our potential out and puts it on display, hoping that someone will notice how truly ill we are.

And this someone, they're sick too. But this love, this love will delude us into thinking that this person is the most amazing thing to ever grace the face of the earth. We might not even see the symptoms at first, we won't see their flaws, we'll just embrace them. We will miss them. We will crave them, because love has made us incapable of doing otherwise. It will drain us until we have nothing but disease.

Don't tell anyone, but they're all waiting, all waiting for something amazing to happen, to ride in like a tsunami and wake them from them from their numb slumber. They're all waiting for something grand. Because we've all got love, and those who say they don't are on some pretty heavy medication, for them not to feel the alone it induces. It makes us so aware. This is how it's all going to end. This is the next great plague. It will leave the entire population wishing wanting and searching. And in all this confusion, no one will find anyone; and hearts will conclude.

; nothing collides, this is it. 

I want him back -- the one whose name I didn't associate with abandon.

// Stand idly by as I.
Watch and wait and dive and drown
in oceans of you
spin,
around and orbit
you
like a moon
like a comet
shooting through the sky
on a path
never straying
passing and passing
and always just
but if fortune be kind
we'll collide
and
devour
each other.

Explode
Undo
Rewrite

We could be infinite as dust(mights).

you and i
will fall
and flail
in the wind
like drifters
never knowing
never certain
but always
living
every second
full
of
millions of drops of universe.

Not because I want to  be free, just because I want to be yours. Everything around us distracts you from seeing how good we could be. I want you to lean on me, like how I want to lean on you. I want you to think me necessary, because I never am. Do you know how hard it is to be this disposable?

They'll never take us alive.

Quiet and subtle, we’ll creep into each other like silent little souls, searching for homes. Nothing fancy, just something modest to keep out the cold. Slowly, we’ll search us for something familiar, a warm corner in the hearts of each other, to sit in and sleep in and hide from grenades in; a barricade in the war by the world to turn us into bloodied and battered shells of potential. 

We’ll crawl into each other with our heads both bowed, hoping for floorboards and windows and sounds of breezes and whispers and gentle fingers on faces before reaching for slumber. Heads on laps and faces on faces, gaze meeting gaze, knowing in silence; time standing still with each breath. Heartache transcending through flesh and rib cages. 

We’ll preserve our youth and joy and laughter in all of these cages, fine-tuned and golden. In places the world can’t see, touch, reach. We’ll keep our hopes and our dreams alive, locked away, but still beating. We will be what they refuse to believe, but first gentle quiet delicate peace, radiating, resounding, reverberating through the walls, in each other. 

Shut those wild eyes and sleep for a while.