An author wrote; When you love someone, they become a part of who you are. They're in everything that you do. They're in the air you breathe & the water that you drink & the blood in your veins. That their touch stays on your skin & their voice stays in your ears & their thoughts stay in your mind...
So this must be why since we first met my whole world has been put back together, just to be shattered & never recovered. That must be why since I've met you, my assistance has been more like an astral projection, but instead of my soul returning to my body it stole someone else's & made a home of a haunted house, a vessel to restore this broken glass, this mirror of a soul with no super glue or ghostbuster kind of closure anywhere in the seeable sight. That must be why I don't like water & suffer from dehydration, even though my body is 55% of water, you've called the water of my body a sea in sorts that even after you hurt me I prayed God would allow me to baptize you in. This must be why I have circulation issues, why my arms & legs don't want to act like they belong to me, & why they want to stay asleep & a dream of being touched, held & loved. Instead of the present tired and aching.
The author wrote; You know their dreams because their nightmare pierces your heart & their good dreams are your dreams too. But even with both of our heads in the clouds & our feet barely ever touching the ground I doubt that we really ever knew each other dreams. Or would have guessed that our dreams would later be used to tell our stories to each other as a way to use our dreams at our disposal like recycled paper. That our dreams would later be able to communicate through the silence of being blocked, kicked out of & ununderstandably placed on the sidelines.
The author wrote, And you don't think they're perfect, but you know their flaws, the deep down the truth of them & the shadows of all their secrets & they don't frighten you away The words are like knives cutting open the sore that I've sown & burned shut with the ink of my firey hot pen to forget the pain I try to permanently forget. Call the love I used to have captured inside of me like fireflies a little girl strongly believes they are fairies, stupid & unrealistic because saw all of your flaws, did not want them to be alone, mothered, girlfriend-ed & adopted them, made them my own. Now all I have is for them to remember you by - to involuntarily reach out to you through.
The deep truths of them all, I vaguely remember you comparing them to a fox; I remember you telling me about this fox - capturing feelings felt for them & how this would vex me. I try to stay away from terminal rhyme, the x sound is the echo sound that echos in this vessel that's followed suit, this heartache has become an untreatable x-treme terminal illness.
And the author continues to write; In fact, you love them more for it, because you don't want them. You want_. The author left the last line an open-ended, a hangnail, a to-be-determined, an unwritten fantasy, a sentence my soul is waiting to finish & live through, an incomplete sentence. The writer & book-warm wants to know ' you want' what? Want to be healed & somehow able to forget the bullshit that the imposter of a visitor with humble beginning the pain that I felt. What does the author want? What did God want when he put this 'choose your own adventure' book in front of me & I ended up here? What did he want when he walked in & out of my life the way that he did? What did my soul & I want when we lead ourselves there & found our way here? What did I want? What do I want?
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