Like a lizard on a window pane.
I can't help but feel empty after being so full up. It all comes as a rush, its vibrancy blinding me and making my teeth show. After it's over and no one is home, the colors become basic and my body is just another piece of furniture. I can dance with the most poignant of form and I know how to close my eyes and sink into everything I am feeling. I can sit alone with my thoughts, my memories, my dreams for later. Yet I still feel cold and tired and incomplete. Where is my missing piece, and why was it taken from me? I have always been whole, I have always been the complete picture. But I have lost a fragment somewhere along the way, somewhere amidst the streets I walk along everyday.
I think this is what it means to finally be open, to finally let someone slip in and make you feel something. Every time I am with him I forget about what is happening outside in the war zone. I swim into my sheets and I smile up to the forgotten light and I don't want to leave and I can't leave. I blink days later and realize that I have progressed into the future, and I am bombarded with concerns I give no thought to. All I care about is being irresponsible and naive, and I can't seem to put any thought into 2+2 or je m'appelle horrible.

I was the girl in the front row of the ska band, the girl changing her shirt in public, the girl not caring that her mom was sleeping downstairs. It was all in one day, and days like this are a beautiful whir and it's a harsh, harsh comedown when it's all said and done.
So I sit, waiting for the next time I can throw the world away like sad words on a ball of paper. I wait for the next time I can stop walking around with him trying not to let my magnetic limbs go where they whisper they want to go.



I am not used to being in such a good place.