May 26th.

I love you.

Listening to: Things Behind The Sun - Nick Drake.
Mood: Wistful.
Talking to: Jim, Cj, Jane.

Dancing on your front lawn in the middle of the night, yelling to the moon that I'll meet her someday while you watch me and try not to think that I'm crazy. It's okay, we both know I am.
I'll sleep under your bed in a suitcase and sing to you when you're lonely if you'll love me. I'll draw the curtains and blow out the candles and paint stars on the ceiling and name them all for you.
Then one day when it's raining tea you'll decide I'm too much and leave me for the next one. I'll go back to the tire swing in the backyard in her head, and though the rope is frayed she'll push me higher and higher until all I feel and breathe an am is the clouds.
She'll miss you more than i do though, she always does. She falls into the flowers again and I have to pull her out. The strings holding us up are weak, but they'll never break. Like the wires that hold up circus performers. Thin, almost invisible. Like her smile.
You made snow angels for me. I had never seen snow before. The cold was like home. And she's burning like autumn leaves, dancing around the bedroom mocking me.
I'll just wait for the next one.
Hands feather soft. But gripped oh so tight around my wrists. My hands. My calloused hands held by feather soft. I can feel myself breaking. She's singing while I sleep. She keeps them in a suitcase under the bed. The next ones. Light, dark, large, small. But always feather soft.
Always not enough. I'm too much. She's more than enough. Dancing like autumn leaves burning. The smoke smells like roses though.
Roses and jasmine and the blanket I hid under the day she was born.
My throat is dry and we're laughing through it. We're crazy, her and I.
And we're waiting for the next one.


I need to learn control.