I’m not looking for something safe.

I’m looking for something firey.

I want that burning sensation- that spark of intense longing. That obsession; that addiction and infatuation of something stronger- something more. 

Something that shakes off your rabid rationality. That sort of irrationality and reasoning growing off your bones. 

I don’t want something normal.

I want something insanely abnormal. Where you and I are so in love that we can watch the whole world burn and still be content. Where you and I are stuck in the black hole of abyss yet we are still one and still so, so in love that it all doesn’t matter.

And Yet,

And Yet, you’re still you. 

So rational. So safe. So comprehensively normal.

So still. Never changing. Always present. Always waiting. 

And yet,

You’re still you. 

And I’m still me.

Two dots carved from opposite regions. 

Are we just laying here hoping for something more? 

Is my beating heart somewhere outside?

Or is it hidden somewhere underneath your many layers.

Show me the way. 

I just can’t take this anymore. 

I want something more:.

Can you blame me for not being able to trust when I’ve been blinded in the past? 

You told me to jump, but when I jumped you weren’t there. 

You asked me to fly, but when I flew you slipped away. 

You pleaded with me to try, but when I tried you let us go. 

I came to you half empty.  

You make me strong, then you break me. 

I can’t be blamed.  But then who’s to blame.

“Does the earth revolve around the sun?”

“No,” she replies. 

“Does life end once the heart, mind, and spirit stops functioning?”

“No,” he replies.

“Is it a sin to break the twelve commandments?”

“No,” they reply. 

“Tell me, how can I trust when all you say are lies.” 

There are no more strands left to tweeze. The patch underneath the eyebrow is bare. 
There are no more holes left to dig. I’ve uncovered all of its hidden depths.

There are no more tulips or roselings and poppycocks. Or daffodils, peonies, and sunflowers. 

Flowers are not in bloom- not now or any longer.  

It might just be too late.

The picture is already painted inside my head.  
You stand there, shoulders curved towards my own- eyes tracing shoulders smaller than your own.  

I stand near, but do not reciprocate.  Eyes turned slightly downcast- lips framed ever so downwards.

We do not speak yet minutes still pass us by.  

When your mouth opens, a breath slides out with an entrance. 

You’re tired, you say.

But, I’m exhausted, I reply.

The hands change from 3 to 5.  Yet there’s still little progression in our lives.

I do not have any more words left to craft- do not have any truths left to speak.  But do you?  What do you have to bring me?  

An open casket of mixed greens and cauliflowers.  But which is yellow, and which is green?  Can you even differentiate the strands apart?  

I know what it is that has to be done. But, giving is so hard no matter how little.

If it was indeed love like you proclaimed, then will it be the same love that saves us?

I feel that this will be our last.

“Oh, you know what to do.”

What am I holding on for when it feels like it’s already over? 

The doors that you opened so systematically and carefully are all locked away inside a plain set of cardboard boxes now.  It’s retirement time.  No more pretty words or double edged swords.  I’m tired of this all.

Maybe I’ll bring out the set of boxes for the next set of dashing eyes and small town promises, but for now please, no more.

I’ll plan my escape so that you won’t notice.

Your lips will never forget mine anyways.