Pues, Nada

I stood watching whilst ti®ed eyes gazed at me.

The sleep slipping down cheeks like soul dust

Fa(i-l)ling through caressing fingers. 

“Don’t” and “won’t” and other whispers of fearful desire. 

I can’t stop watching those eyes

   as you (dis)appear in(to) the darkness.

I lost you when

I want to be loved so much that it doesn’t hurt, sting, ache, etc.

I want to be loved so much that it’d be impossible to manifest itself into any imaginable misery– any “I can only imagine” analogy of agony.

Yet, I’ve lucklessly fallen victim to a recurring, bad daydream:

It’s being trapped amidst the coldest conditions a human could possibly get close to surviving,

and if the temperature happens to violently to drop and drop,

I’d cross my fingers for a dedicated someone whose instincts would find a way to find me, instead of indulging in my needless suffering– like the rest have done.

I’d hope for someone who would never turn their kind hand into a sharp weapon–an ice pick, chipping carelessly away at my rock-solid, yet real-as-ever heart–

each hit causing the roughest heart beating.

I get scared– sometimes it hurts just that bad or worse.

I know love’s not meant to leave a weakened heart–barely moving– night after night, pressed against gravel, no one by its side.

Real love is different– real love saves you from such anguish, such irrevocable, unprecedented loss of innocence.

Real love, during below-zero nights, finds you both the coziest bed, tucks you in as it climbs beneath the duvet cover, it guarantees silent kisses on edges of your now-warm lips.

Real love clasps your hands gently together,each finger wrapping carefully around one another.

Then it will all make sense–