There are things I think about doing with you,
like folding laundry with the windows open
and hearing the crickets chirp outside.
Like listening to the turning ceiling fan slowly
make its way around itself,
while we dance and make our way
around each other in the center of the room.
And you stumble slightly on the edge of the rug
that always rolled up a little bit,
but I am there to catch you.
I know you tried every day to fix that corner,
but you need not worry.
I will always be there to catch you.
I know you try every day to not crumble
and shatter into thousands of little pieces.
I know you’re scared,
but you need not worry.
I will always be there to catch you.

1933.15 kelvin.
The melting point of titanium,
and the temperature I'm sure
your eyes surpass,
because my heart is sinking
through the floorboards
and I'm melting in your hands.
Liquid metal should be a contradiction
because that is what I am around you.
A turbulent sea.
A placid puddle.
I only hope that I pool
in the nooks inside your chest,
and you find some way
to make me solid again.
Only you can make me solid
again.

Some say 3 hours isn’t enough sleep to get by,
but I’m more concerned about getting by
with less hours of you.
I didn’t open my umbrella today,
it has too many broken pieces anyways.
The rain felt cold,
but still gentle.
Always gentle.
You’re always gentle.
I couldn’t use my travel cup today,
I didn’t have enough time to clean it.
Maybe some mornings are supposed
to be spent without something to wake me up.
Maybe I’ll drink honesty in the largest mug
I can find.
One sugar,
not two,
a little bit of milk.
Maybe I’ll carry love around in buckets
until the handles cut through my palms
and leave reminders of why you are worth it.
You can clean them if you’d like,
it will burn but that’s okay.
Just know that you’re worth it.
You are worth it.

Some nights these thoughts
are all I have.
Some nights they are thoughts
I hope you have yourself.
Like early mornings with oversized sweaters
and coffee a bit too warm,
with a slight fog
and gentle rain outside.
Like mid evening spent on a soft grassy hill
with a calming breeze
and wispy clouds.
Like battling 4 am as it tries
to sink our drooping eyelids,
holding on only by
anchoring our eyes to one another.
Some nights they are words.
Some nights they are what keeps me company
when I drift into six hours
of softened slumber.
Some nights they are hopes.
Other nights they are needs.
Every night they are about you.

Every piece I find
draws me deeper into you,
and my shaking hands refuse
to know exactly what to do.

The tides are like your eyes,
always moving but never leaving,
and my head’s below the surface
but somehow I still keep breathing.

You are not like the sea.
It will never be deep enough,
nor calm enough,
nor lovely enough
to ever hold your substance.
You have engulfed all of it;
every salty drop now sits in lungs
that hold the air I need to survive.
And I will dive as deep as I must
to find the caverns that keep it.
Tides cascade through brimming veins
and currents surge through swelling limbs.
One deep breath is all it takes
to force the sea into your eyes.
And you will hold it there forever;
the tranquil green pools
like puddles forming from
the deepest ocean floors.
You are not like the sea.
You will never be like the sea.
The sea is like you.

"Your future holds endless opportunities."
But what does a bent piece of paper
inside a crooked cookie know about
all that you are.
You are sunlight
and morning dawn
and cloudy skies
and gentle rain
and the perfect distance
that my feet must swing
in order to not step
on the cracks in the sidewalk.
Don’t act like you haven’t tried it either.
We both have;
tried to keep your feet moving at just the right time,
when you want them to, where you want them to
and not any time or place before.
But maybe I’m okay with not knowing
where they’ll take us now.
After all, sidewalks are already paved,
we just need to walk them.
Maybe that slip of paper was right.
Your future holds endless opportunities.

I found you.
Amidst distant humming grasshoppers
and humid evening air,
I found you.
Or maybe you found me.
Maybe you’re finding me.
2 am came early last night;
our words far too honest,
our eyes far too tired.
Maybe our bones too.
Ignoring time’s mandates you
ripped my heart straight from my chest
with bare hands
(living)
(pulsing)
(messy)
and laid it on the table next to yours.
I’m still not sure how to put it back,
so I’ll carry it around with both hands
until you’re there to examine it again.
And I’ll spend all the time apart wondering
why it feels better
outside of my ribcage.

Sometimes I take the long way home.
I hope you don’t mind.
It’s just in hopes of spending a few more
minutes with you.
And I take every chance to switch
into the right lane, just to steal
a few extra glances when you’re not looking.
I hope you don’t mind.
I’ve cracked open my ribcage and laid
every piece of what’s left on the table,
even if it’s not much.
I don’t need you to put me back together,
I just need you to be okay with
broken pieces,
fragmented statements,
incoherent whispers.
We don’t need to be fixed.
We just need to grow.
And how can we grow if there are not
cracks in our minds and gaping holes
in our hearts?
I think your pieces are beautiful.
I would like to hold on to them for a while.
I hope you don’t mind.

Can you handle me on sleepless nights
after midnight when past regrets
turn into future fears?
Will you be able to calm that sea?
Because my teeth feel loose inside my mouth
and some days I worry too much.
Some days my clothes are a tad bit too big
or too small,
and my glasses don’t sit right.
I guess they still keep you in focus.
I wonder what you’d think
if you saw all the thoughts I had.
What if I’m not enough?
You’d think it’d be a question
but some days it just becomes a statement
that I bury underneath fearful eyes.
I guess I forget that it can be answered.
But what if?
What if I’m not enough.