And these are polarised core wounds,
And this is what they call death by merging.
And sometimes I think I am more attached to my pain than to my love,
But most times I just want you to dive in to me: head first, heart first, heaven first.
–
And I guess I thought we were the same, because
you gave me that nod like you knew what I meant when I
lifted the curtain and said: Is that all there is?
Just a guy in a suit?
Controlling a wizard?
That a whole emerald city
is built around?
I guess I just thought we were the same, because
we could care a look and both be on the same page, knowing
that the world is a joke but at least we were both in on it.
Turns out, that’s just how you look at everyone, and
you ask me out when it’s sunny, but
actually,
like I’ve told you before: I am the sun.
–
And I have to believe she has more for us, you and I.
Bigger plans.
Because there has to be more for those whose palms you can’t read
(because of all the glitter)
than just the same smiles given away 100 times a night
swiped and swiped and swiped
and never once having the world lit on fire, despite any app names.
–
And sometimes I’m afraid that it doesn’t matter how much work I do on myself,
how deep I get, how far I go,
because it can all come crumbling down, like a mother’s slap.
Like the taking away of my power.
–
And I’m not going to be able to give you what you want but
it makes me happy that you want it.
The child in me sees the child in you and maybe our souls have
a contract that needs to play out.
Because when I look ahead, you’re there in my peripheral,
you’re in my rearview mirror, you’re in the backseat of all my cars,
and I’ve told the story about your goldfish to almost everyone I know and
you look at me like maybe I’m made of gold, too.
–
And my wasted heart will love you.
And the path to the supermarket grows lush with peace lilies.
And every time I see one, quite ironically,
I knot with the war you gave me.
And just like the twin crystals we bought,
we break apart.