dormitory

after a short stroll through the nicotine-laden haze of an uninviting night, we simultaneously cross the threshold into her place.

a sparsely decorated and seemingly spartan setup welcomes us as i speedily scan the surroundings on where to place my personal effects until i realize that the correct answer is within any empty space devoid of inanimate objects. her cube of a living space secures two bodies in close proximity with a bed, television, and singular table without any chairs or noticeable furniture to speak of.

a minimalistic, japanese aesthetic without a drop of japanese blood between these two entities.

on this table lay a mixture of an ashtray, tarot cards and books filled with spiritual guidance and novellas alike. these are the interests and peculiarities of what could be my complement, but i refuse to be optimistic in any situation that is so perfect, yet crestfallen as this.

we talk for hours about the most mundane, aimless topics that create a cascade of fruitless conversations until we realize that this is exactly what we want; this is precisely what we yearn for in the nights that separate these moments.

as i leave, i stand up from my cross-legged position and reach across the geometrically-perfect table and gently cradle her head in my hands and lay a kiss atop of her head. i close my eyes and note the warmth the spills from her onto my hands and the relaxation of her face at the exact moment that we make contact.

i hear her let out a subtle sigh and hold on for a couple of seconds longer.

haunts

i can vividly recall the last moments that i spent with you while your blood was still warm and the air was graced by your presence.

strapped to a hospital bed with a myriad of tubes and wires, electrical and mechanical conduits in which life was breathed into your body.

every surface was washed out by halogen, i could almost taste the electroluminescence and electrons on my tip of my tongue that immediately radiate throughout my senses. the stark, sterile environment giving way as you cut into the cocaine white scenery while in bloom.

it is at this exact moment where i fall to pieces.

it is then i realize that i love you and losing you would create a rift in this wasteland of a world. that everything i thought i knew was wrong and rightfully so as i peered at the world through an imperfect lens comprised of kaleidoscopic stained glass.

i only saw what i wanted to see, and nothing more.

honestly, i love you.

when you left, i left, too.

belong

sometimes it can take an entire lifetime to triangulate where our bodies are supposed to lay, to be content.

fingers outstretched, an exposed palm signifying openness and vulnerability.

sometimes we only need to be kept warm to make it through the night.

we will suffer no more.

no more, no more.

shutter

we both simultaneously cringe at the first hint of those similar sounds. visible reflexive reactions of distaste plaster our faces in the form of crosses, creases and folds.

are we protecting ourselves from the external or preserving our internals out of instinct?

i begin to think about the purpose of miniscule, microscopic mannerisms, about the particular peculiarities that exist in the space between.

the cold, dead void.

i wishfully watch as she tucks her hair behind her ear; her hand drawing a question mark in the air as if she were a calligraphist, gaze extended to the endless, barrier-less azure blue ocean.

we dissolve into each other.

dissolution.

dissociation.

lamb

context is everything.

the thing is that, we create the context, and that makes every little, miniscule and minute detail significant and meaningful.

two souls sharing the same side of a square, stained glass-topped table, almost as if we were sitting across from two equally-translucent ghosts.

from where i sit, this is where she begins and i end.

i can feel our resentment-laden conversation dissolving into the chromatic and kaleidoscopic sea that holds our ceramic wares like tiny toy boats on the constant verge of capsizing.

the only thing that exists in my mind are her tired eyes perfectly framed in a face that is a representation of everything that i am not.

her tired, tired eyes.

she is everything that i am not, and i remain completely content knowing that devastating fact.

i will not aspire to be something that i cannot honestly and faithfully represent.

with a hook, line, and sinker, we fall apart into our respective jigsaw puzzle pieces.