I wake up every morning to a whisper of your face. I’m dissecting your expressions, checking words for empty space. I think about how you would feel if you had caught me frowning. This fine romance is really just a suicide by drowning. The things I used to love are now submerged in loving you. I can’t remember how to want the things I used to do. There’s something on the surface, and I know I’m in too deep, but you have filled my lungs, and I can’t breathe, and I can’t speak. My consciousness has been eroded softly, over time, and I can’t stand to think of anything but that you’re mine. All light refracts through you, and every image is distorted; you’re in my eyes, my mouth, my nose; I’m sinking, unsupported. I stepped into the shallows, and I swam into the depths; I courted you and it’s my fault I wasn’t ready yet. Someone will have to save me if I am to stay alive, but I'm not sure I want to live. I only want to dive.

We say that we're not dating, and nobody really gets it. Sometimes it's so hard to be sufficiently descriptive. They know some of what we've done, the hijinks on your couch; they know, because of me, the taste and texture of your mouth; and they know some of what we do (the drugs, the dares, each other)-- but I don't think they'll ever quite get everything we cover. I play my music for you, and you give me clear critiques. We wipe the pain and sadness from each other's eyes and cheeks. You have never kissed my hair or forehead, but you've rubbed my back when I was cold and tired and weak and needed love. And I have never bought you flowers, but I won't regret the nights I've stayed to talk to you when we both should have slept. Well, are we lovers? Are we friends? Or are we neither? Both? All I know is I would go to lengths to stay this close. Romance isn't part of this, but love is. You are dear to me in ways I never thought about till you were here.

You're so good, you're so good. I want to Kiss you slowly, touch you gently, Make you feel at home, I want to Tell you all my secrets So you don't feel so alone, I want to Give you all the sweetness And the softness and the love That well up in my heart and in My head from thinking of The way you smile at me when I have made you feel content, The glimmer in your eyes when you Know surely what you meant, I want to Be the cherry on your sundae, Give you something sweet To get you through the longest nights And lift your weary feet, I want to Help you and support you and Be good for you and more, I want to Build each other up and be A team, 'cause I adore you. You are Lemonade on summer days, A soothing thought at night. You're Everything I didn't know Would be such a delight.

You make those words I never liked much well up on my tongue, a language of devotion, though we've only just begun. And I mean every syllable, and I'm a little scared, since what I want to promise you can hardly be prepared, can hardly be controlled or chosen, hardly be arranged-- is not a guarantee, cannot be promised not to change-- but still you mean the world to me, and still I'm nearly sick with love, and if I cannot swear, at least can I predict?

You mouth the words like clockwork. Yeah, your lips are so in sync the lyrics and your heartbeat might as well be the same thing. They resonate inside your heart as clearly as your ears, because they name your darkest parts: your feelings and your fears.

He’s the one I’m hungry for, but she’s the one I miss– the one who shows up suddenly in memories of lips. I taste her, vivid on my tongue as if she were around, as if she hadn’t left, as if I hadn’t let her down. I see her smile, so soft and sad, just like it always was. She’s not the one I want, but she’s the one I’m thinking of.

"Give it to God and go to bed"-- but God is not my friend. I can't trust Him or anyone; there's no one I can lend my troubles off to late at night when I am all alone, and no one who will hold me tight and comfort me at home. It's charm and grace and sparkling notes on lips as red as wine; it's reaching vainly for the hopes I wish I'd left behind; it's brilliant smiles and bated breath and laughter, smooth as glass and false as iron pyrite, left to shatter in the grass. It's teeth that feel like sharpening and marking up his neck; it's hearts made into carpeting and ships we built to wreck. I'm shivering and hungry, but the armor of my charm is stronger now than ever; what could ever do me harm?

I still remember how it felt when you were most of me– the rush, the high, the awe–the guilt and insecurity. I needed you too much to lay my eyes upon the sun; I didn’t love you quite the way I wish I could have done. It wasn’t anybody’s fault– not yours, not mine, not hers; our eyes and mouths were filled with salt, our hearts with desperate words. But now, in sun and summertime, I’m glad I’m finally gone. When I was yours, I wasn’t mine; I couldn’t see the dawn. And now, recovered from the fall (though fallible and flawed), I see it, sun and clouds and all– thank God, thank God, thank God.