There's nothing romantic in waiting for this feeling to pa**.
I cannot find the charm in spending so many nights alone.
Devices are not effective; again it's hard to breath.
A few calls, and my soul is already spread upon the operating table.
The letters are hiding in the tired facial creases.
I owe you so much of this.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever stop thinking about you.
I wonder, no longer able to understand clearly what I'm missing.
When will time be in our hands again?
Love, I don't ask for much.
Do kids still jump into the river from the bridge?
Weaving strings over their backyards, staying up all night,
Crossing fingers, staring down,
Waiting for something big to happen.
My own blood doesn't scare me anymore.