Inside Outside

I meant to tell you so many things today. I wanted to tell you I had a dream. That everything was whole. That there was a chance. At any moment torn parts could combine and be complete in themselves. In the meantime everything is practice, pain and all.

What makes you walk against your better judgment is something cold. You make an offering. What you get in return is your return. Everything you have risked seems better in the wake.

Three times around. Making wider circles each. Faster. Wider. I had myself convinced that someday the sky would sit in our hands as we stood side by side. That the very light of day would be nothing compared to the things we would make together. Love is not about interchangeable parts. It's about the sudden expansion of your dreams. Dreams doubled by someone else's.

Inside

It was cold last night. I pulled a red plaid blanket over my bed and watched it breath. I heard the sound of sobbing as my mind raced where it didn't belong. What came first? Words or pain? I am only my ideas. There is a body that has folded somewhere beneath this blanket. Wet with tears and deranged enough to keep wanting to be saved.

Yearning grows like humidity in wood.

Sky. The word has taken over reason. A gust of wind and I am a million shards flying up to the blue bed. Your voice. Somewhere calling me to come apart. My eyes are dying. I can tell because they only see what I tell them. Time exposed to itself. Touching only itself. Stuck in reverie of a place where yesterday is as incurable as tomorrow is inevitable.