Nothing is alright; but what’s raw has always kept me away; what’s true has always turned me off; I have built myself armor against what’s real.

I have gotten very accomplished at pretense.

This doesn’t make me anyone; this makes me, as far as I can tell, as honest as I can be; this makes me part of everyone.

And yet, instead of camaraderie, all things are revealed, as with a timid knock, to have been hollow.


at the end of everything what it turned out to be was that I wanted to kiss everyone and let go of this the very idea that I was close or closed or held or holding–

at the end of everything it was only I that could occupy the space, it was only me here after all– lips left at last alone but with stories and ideas and memories of joining with others for moments and moments that disappeared with every breath–

it’s nothing, after all. if even I could breathe life in, it must be easy– there doesn’t have to be a reason.

sometimes reason was when our skin touched, when you & I weren’t afraid to share the space between, and that’s all there could or all there had to be.

in the yards and yards of rippling fabric we can be open and soft, even alongside the frost that lives in our veins here– we are– we were– always going to be creeping to something frozen, and even when I was warm among you I did not believe that this would last–

even the stars in the sky will someday die– but to fade away is to have been, and to have been was once to be and there is nothing really but being and the warm gold air in the summer and the endlessness of blue when it’s over.