I can feel your pain, I can barely breathe.

I know so little, but what I do know is that I want to live the rest of my life with the sort of kindness that makes my heart full, because when my heart is empty, all I can see is black and all I can feel is the hardness of a cold, stone wall every which way I turn, as if I'm stuck in some too-small cage with no passageway for air, for breath, for light, for love. I've fallen in love with The Human Experience, with despair and loneliness and the kind of depression that presses against your bones (especially your ribs) until even their spongy anatomy can't fight it and they shatter inside you and puncture your organs (especially your lungs) and you can't breathe, for all your hopelessness. I've fallen in love with The Human Experience so much that I can't leave it, I can't abandon the feelings that have been with me for so long: the familiar, the comfortable, the miserable. I've fallen in love with Man, and by that I mean every Man, every single Man. What has Man offered me? The illusion of love, of kinship, of Heaven. If I've seen you - if I've seen you, I've loved you, the scent of you, the hairs on your face, the color of your eyes, the clothes on your back, the idea of you, I've loved you. I don't know how much longer I can live falling in love with every One around me, the pain is the bone-crushing Human Experience, and yet it's too much for me to handle. “Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those.” -Sylvia Plath "I want to eat your sparrow, come here. I want to lick your sparrow claws come here. I want to cut your sorrows out you’re hollowed out. Come here. I want to suck your fingers off. Come here. I want to give you your history back. Your fingers back. I want to tell you yes. Come back. I want to show you my pressure, my heavy, my opened and clothes, my under and o’s. Come here. I want to finger your bones back. I want to sew your bones back. I want to re-blood your history. I want to give you your teeth back. Your teeth marks. I want to spit back your teeth-pull. I want to unhinge your heart-jaws. Come here. I want to sit you down on the bed and give you back my years. Here. I breathed your name into the leaves. Here. I breathed you back into the trees. Here." -'I Want To Tell You Yes', Kallie Falandays