3 AM - 3PM
i wanted to believe the dust in my books would be the foundation of a greater meaning. i wanted to spend my days trying to create the colour of your eyes on canvas but they always turned too brown, too grey or too deep for me to be able to stare at them. i wanted the marks on your hands from carrying too many plastic bags after doing our groceries. the white light reflecting on the darkness you carried like a backpack and that you ignored while you stared at the oranges. “this one is too round i’d like them to have corners”. i imagined the pink light reflecting on the ice beneath us. i wrote you poems with the knives on the ice but you never seem to grasp the meaning of my senseless lines. you came one evening and gave me a bit of your past packed in some old box where you drew dragons thinking they would protect the snowballs inside (from a zoo in michigan, the texan dessert and a storm in california you managed to hold inside the tiny space) . we played with them for hours and then you closed the box so suddenly and held my face between your hands so violently while you told me “stop trying to memorize all that you can’t” but it was too late and you never learn from a step back. it never makes sense it never does that the only sense of all this is the senseless feeling of filled emptiness each time you tell me staying is a thing i can’t afford “ it is like having a house with walls of gold”- and now what (“darling” i whisper to myself you’d never let me call you that unless it was that night when your favorite planets aligned with the exact position of your hands)  now what do we do with the thorns we framed thinking they’d hold the glass structure we walk on? i promise to learn all the places where your skin breaks when the wind is too cold. i am tired of walking and finding your gloves all over the street. I collected 23,5 so far but when i wake up they are gone and they appear somewhere else like they are haunting me and reminding me i’m not the one holding your hand because we are too parallel at times oh god so parallel icant even breathe. so again tell me where it cracks so i know where i can heal with my burning delicate touch. one night my friends told me that i loved you and it broke every single bone in my body to hear those words and i tried to drown them in my tequila sunrise while they came out but they were fast and now my wrist is broken and my ribcage torn apart. perhaps tonight i get to say goodnight because i haven’t slept since the day you touched my hand by accident or by an accident that left thousands of casualties and they all had my face. and the wraith of this emotion is tucking me in and i hope i taste sweeter to him than i’d ever do to you.
