i couldn't stand being a passing fancy. before i give my body, i must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. and you weren't having any of those.

do you know that i only rushed that one time? i rushed and then i panicked because i hear that i’m a grown up now and i had be rough when really all i am is melting.

so i stopped. here i am; i am not jumping.

what could i do? there are lots of things i’d like. to stop battling all the eyelashes, to start. i’d like to have somewhere to put all the pretty words i could write for you. your ears might be a good place to empty what i have stored up in my head. maybe it would find its way in before you start running away.

i could fold up into you and be warm all night and i’d even stay longer if you let me.

we could sit in front of my paper fire and pretend like the heat is real because we’re both stuck in the city and it’s making us tear apart. or i could trap you on my roof. i’ll force you to be romantic and then scream at you like the wind is glaring at me. i might cry so you know how i am.

i confuse everything that’s easy about the earth for subtlety when things aren’t going my way. it’s just because winter is tragic and if i can’t have what i want, i’ll join the quiet and take devastation for depth.

right now i’m a puddle. i’m shivering and worried that i can’t do words like i can’t do people and if they both escape you, what do you have?

i think i’m just making up loves for my room because it’s here and my hands are alone.