You are the strongest person I know
You were able to lift me up so high
That when you dropped me
I fell further down than when you had found me


I was told to look to the elderly men in my town for sage advice. For the problems that would plague my raw youth,
they would have the answer, the solution.
I was told by no one and everyone to look to the old men in my town for good words.
These tacit instructions
Any approach was stagnated by my sight.
Tan or dark
wrinkled skin
stretching against the bone
or hanging down as if clutching onto life
Teeth gone and crooked like long ago built fences
useless now
Glassy eyed
as if there were tears to be shed
for things lost
for things not finished
for things that couldn’t be done
for things abandoned
for regrets
Am I supposed to look to these men
These old men in my town
who blend into the cracked
creaking wood of their porches
Who sit so still
staring at the future
of their changed past
In my town
there are many old men
that I see as I pass them by


Anxiety trembles in my chest at these thoughts. These thoughts that are warm and soft, how they make my mind pliant, allowing for it to be stretched with imagination and fantasy.
Sometimes, more than missing him, I miss the loss of what never will be. I miss the laughs and smiles, and embraces. The wind against my skin, the solidity of his body pressed close to mine. Words that will never be said.
I miss when I am not missed.
I crave what is not craved of me and that makes the desire stronger.
For a connection to build up naturally, sweetly until it encompasses us both. For honey to touch the tips of our tongues and roll down the backs of our throats and slowly fill us up with warmth and sugar.
Even as these thoughts flow through my mind and press down hard like storm winds beating upon the blades of grass in an open field, like that field these hopes these wants fantasies are empty. And what follows is an aching reminiscence of things that never were, of things that will never be.


Death was only one thing everyone was guaranteed in this life. It didn’t discriminate. It crept up in many forms, waiting to catch the pathetic mortal that at last fell from this earth.
These thoughts floated idly around Jamie’s mind as he crouched in a dark alcove waiting for the opportunity to sprint across the street unnoticed. The subject wasn’t so odd to think upon anymore, so he let them meander about, keeping his eyes alert.
He bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet, knowing the route of the guards purveying the area, and ticked down the minutes.
Guard 1 walked stiffly along the edge of the street, approaching the eastern corner.
He stops, turning to watch the street, waiting until guard 2 has reached him, as so to trade places.
Jamie rose for his crouched position, fingers lightly scratching into the stone of the building he leaned against, the shadow of guard 2 looming across the intersection from the dim light; Guard 1 turns towards him, momentarily blocking guards 2’s sight of the street as he came around the corner.
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If it’s too cold, we can stay inside and strip down as the heat of our stares warms our naked skin.
We can tell each other secrets with our hands, and paint them on our bodies. We can race our hearts and lose our breaths.
The slide of your skin
against my skin
against yours


Lounging besides a tree on the late spring grass, he looked up at the gray clouds lazily making their way across the sky and sighed.

No sign of the sun at all. 
For the past few weeks it has been like this; rainy and muggy and gray, and just damn miserable. 
It was only mid-March, and he knew what to expect of the weather at this time.

But he had been inside all winter, and craved for the caress of the sun’s rays. 
Those rays which incited such fond memories of last fall, before the chill of the wind bit into your skin, on the cusp of winter, when he fell in love.
Always in front of his face, he never noticed the beauty that his love radiated until one morning. So glorious he was, always so cheerful and bright. Everyone and everything lit up in his presence, making everything around look amazing and wondrous. 
Though his affection was unrequited, he was filled with a sweet feeling of peace and pure joy whenever around his love.  
Unaware he had fell asleep within the haze of his memories, his eyes fluttered open at the warmth that gently touched his face. 
The bear rolled over, using his paw to shield his eyes. He watched his beloved sun chase away the gray clouds, bringing life to his surroundings. 
It was times like these, that the bear could feel himself falling deeper and deeper in love with the sun. It was silly, to give one’s heart away to something so far away. 
It was silly, but it was wonderful, and crazy, and amazing too.


Sometimes I think about how nice it would be to hold your hand. And have your soft palm pressed against mine. Like holding a sweet plum or peach.  
I think about talking and listening and laughing with you. I think about kissing you,  and hugging you,  and being so close that I can run my nose along the line of your neck and the tips of my fingers across your chest. 
How I would sprinkle brown sugar in your ears and smear honey across your eyes,  make things sweet things for you until your heart is saturated in syrup.
I think about where we could go  and what we could do. 
About you,  you I entrap in these thoughts. Flower petals soft, caressing, a scent tickling my nose, enough for me to ignore how cheap these petals actually feel. 
You you you I think about who lives in a decorated glass case,  so pristine and nestled quite comfortably in my mind, the glare from the spotlight not blinding enough for me to ignore that thick line between what is real and what is not. 
But I enjoy how the residue of that line made of black black tar sticks, and tears at my skin the burn reminding me that it’s only safe to be on the side of what’s real.
I heed and I ignore.  
Because to think that someone who seems as lovely as you could hold my heart in those soft palms
is too appealing.