Like the crash of waves against a shore, so punctual, we lay ourselves down. Our measured, calculated awareness elsewhere like lost baggage upon these stations and stops we stand waiting at. Crossing from platform to platform, with our deceiving faces, we just fall, face down, on train tracks and ask to be flattened under the weight of an accident.
Every mistake isn't a lesson learned, but an encounter, a show of resilience. We start to wonder if we've been born in the wrong house. I feel as sorry for myself as I do for you.
Then there are those who walk with no intention of ever coming back home, but they end up even farther behind the starting line than before the race began.
of teeth against lip against skin.
And the words that flow off your tongue so easily, so simply, against my heat.
Wherever from, your entrances are grand ones and all I can ever do is to celebrate my helpless hurting heart cradled amidst half-trapped breaths.
Don't remember when
days were divided into
those with worry and those
without.
With a choice,
or no way out.
On exceptionally clear nights, when the soft darkness of the sky outstreches beyond its usual grasp and reaches us, I like to point a finger toward a supposed heaven to count stars with a bright wish in my heart for you to join me. And you were right, I do want to recreate all the fantastical scenes we watch in movies, not because I believe in them, but because I want to live every minute of every day, awake or asleep, in a new world.
So I like to dance in my dreams, I like listening to songs with dirty lyrics, and I'd kill to be a little like Lady Gaga or Katy Perry. I like painting things in the colours of the rainbow, I like zoos, I like telling strangers about the intimate details of my life. I take pride in wearing my heart on my sleeve. I like banana flavoured ice cream, and talking about things without stopping, I like jumping from the sofa to the armchair to the footstool to the table and back to the sofa again. I absolutely adore teeny tiny fuzzy-peachy bundles of joy and warmth, and the scent of a certain particularly gorgeous boy.
My purpose? To try everything.
I might be like everyone else, or unlike anyone else. There's little I understand, but I'm certain a lot needs to be done - priorities to be straightened, growing up and serious thinking to be done. For now, though, I'm lazy and liking it.
But what am I, if not experiences? If I can't create every feeling there's ever existed in my head? If I can't fall in love with you over and over and over again every time? If I can't make you happy in ways that lovers before us couldn't even have imagined? Even in their unaware dreams. They couldn't have.
You know so well, I'm extraordianrily crazy for you.
When I forget how to speak, how to think, how to breathe, I still manage to remember you. You are irreplaceable. An unparalleled lost treasure, you could turn anyone into gold. A treasure safe from time. To infinity and beyond.
Don't answer each helpless question correctly. You might not leave anything behind. But put your pride away, inside my palm, because I'll only break it to build it up stronger than before.
Turn
me
into
your
work
of
art.
It's not just a coincidence. It's an intricate pattern of alphabets and interlocked fingers and secrets that we've discovered. And I love repeating it to myself. Not to you because I still get nervous and shy, you know.
Somehow whenever I'm looking I always find you here. Sometimes you wait for me under the sun, other times you make me wait in the dark. You don't leave until I ask you to. You ask me to stay. And I do. We have this place all to ourselves.
In a bedsheet summer dress with big yellow roses spilling words like sparks from fireworks. Showing you the colours underneath. Showing you the marks I was born with, the ones shaped like ladybirds that appeared later. Then counting the ones on you. Fingers sweeter than the strawberry cupcake frosting covering them. Eyes bright. Shiny. Hair long and loose and wild waves of water. Look for the trap door and J U M P ! Mr. Rabbit's clock is ticking already and Alice is in wonderland. But wasn't it all only a dream?
What runs through my veins now? But I wrote your name with mine in the sky. I wrote it in my best handwriting. Then a chill ran down my spine and it hurt me rather well.
Slowly erasing here and there, replace with against, beside and within. We do so much in surprisingly little space. Young for as long as possible, with you with me here for as long as I last. As long as you do. As long as I will. To begin again.
