Organized Chaos

His name is not love. Neither is it perfection nor beauty. The atoms that make up his cells that make up his being do not arrange themselves so that he can fit into your mould. He is chance and chaos. Molecules colliding into each other and rebounding at higher speeds. The fission and fusion of particles coming together and breaking apart. Trying to find some kind of balance In a seemingly in coherent mess. We were not made for each other The way a key is fitted for the lock. We are a mismatch of personality traits An occasional swipe left But some kind of promise that we will hold on till the end. I am not saying that there is no room for doubt. But it is through doubt that faith is tested. His name is not love. It is promise.

draft 1

I

aftermath

erode

gold forever

agency//space//displacement//time//boundaries//memory//nature//absence//identity

between the lines

You placed the stars in the sky and You know them by name.

we are unwritten stories

Haunted.

Am I more than what keeps me alive?

You are a burst of light in my dark world.