primal thoughts from the blank space

I had a dream about you last night. We talked. You were you, and we met and talked about life, where I am now. You said "I thought I was doing pretty well until I met with you" like I made you feel like this life was passing you by. Well maybe, but that's what I think. In my isolated repose, where I never see you and we never speak and I speculate on shades of grey from far far away.You could be anywhere. You could be happy. But we embraced, and I felt safe. A strange whole feeling from long ago, an empty box reunited with its heart. You tossed away the dove at my neck, took my wings and safe landing with it.
We spoke in symbols, online realities and words that lose meaning now, hazy unclear flickers across the front lines of a battle you would later lose. Do you blame me? You still don't write back. I used to say you'd rear your ugly head again, but its been five years, and three without a word. I don't know if you've ever read a word I wrote for you.
Did you know, I can still draw your face, in perfect angles, the divet in your chest and the scar on your skull...how many new bits of you exist? How many demons made their mark on your soul? Do you remember me, superman? I was the one who loved you the most. But again, sink or swim. I still keep your heart in a box, hidden in a box, hidden in a drawer in a house that I live in a world where you can never find me. Is it so clean? So cut and dry? Not for the girl who writes to a dead boy. Not to the girl who converses in dreams to a ghost.

But thanks, for being there. Even if it was a dream. Thanks for caring, even just a little, about who I turned into. I will choose to believe you aren't as gone as the world says you are...We've always been a chapter too beautiful to burn.

Stains on the carpet and stains on our memories.

drifter.

Somehow, I am not anyone. Just a spindley song, carried over the wind on a reedy voice. The notes that wander and grace your ears, the edge of magic lines unfold.
You stop midstep, to listen.
"Where did you come from? What are you, little fairy..."
Surround. Ghost orbit, slow motion spin. You're looking for a source that isn't here. It's the breath of soft green moss on a river bank and the smell of earth after a rain. It rises like steam from the soul of this earth untold. A cold winter kiss.
It's never enough but it's all I can give from this place, so out of sync. This weathered dimension, my cage of ice. This is the part where we embrace. This is the part where the miles wither, time springs into step. This is the part where I say, I love you so. How many times, but I love you so. I've been listening to too many opinions, and too many sad stories, and too many tall tales.
Will it ever be enough to know
you are not alone?
 it's just a song
 it's just a song.

indirectly yours,

Here we are. Out of the dark and into the day. Ok, I'll start.
Well, it's relief I guess. You are so heavy. Heavy for me. You felt it too, and admitted as much, in the intolerable poetry that is your voice. Oxygen. The space to breathe, further and further away. Away, till your lungs fill with air and the thoughts are pushed from your head. Only then you realize you were drowning in them. There it is, a clean getaway. No ties, no calls, no checking in. There is nothing to say. No words to lift your pain. No words to tell you the answers to questions you already know the answer to. So let it be static. Let it be the white noise that fills your mind when you fall asleep. It's the wind, it's the butterflies. It's a wash.
The truth is, I'm not feeling very verbal today. Certainly not a day for writing precocious monolougues or narcisistic tangents. Mostly I just stay here in my circle, and that's fine. But sometimes I find myself humming the words to your songs; vowels and consanants that take shape within my subconsious. My litany of you.

good mourning.

You know why I stopped listening to music? I can't hear anything really good without conjuring ghosts. I am safe in the drivel they play over the radio. Total bullshit.

You me and a receiver. Trying to swallow me whole.

game on.

We're passing letters over time zones. Flicker, bend, screen vibrate. You and me, we're the lakehouse. Aligned in two completely different dimensions.
Here's the thing: you begot me. We're related. We're strings, and they can't be cut. Nothing so real can be severed. It's a wire. I still send to you like you send to me.
I read it and got butterflies. My heart stopped a little. Whatever it is, I've missed it. Can we keep this up forever? I got a glimpse inside, and laughed. You think you are the only lonely soul on the planet.

We are nothing without pretend. Child's play. And ready or not, here I come.

It's your world I live inside.

I think it dawned on me today that I'm never really going back. And if I push myself to let go...

You lay in my memory, pristine. I turn the pages back more times than you think, soldier boy. You're like paper left in the sun too long, bleached and warped. Tossed out, but the space you once were an echo to your existence. Oh, god. It terrifies me to think I may have to relive that pain. That anyone around me might fall down sick and leave only a trace; such a feeble testament to meaning. I am the keeper of your best years. Just when I think I'm close to forgiving, infinity...you are the space between 99 and 100.

Tick tock.

Again, to you.

Do you ever wish that
We'd met
In a field of flowering poppies?
Do you think that
maybe it make
things a whole lot different?
The truth is that
You were much lovelier
Than I've ever given you credit for.