twenty five

Sometimes things’re so beautiful, i can barely even stand it. My chest swells like my heart is the ocean and my body is a tea cup. I can barely breathe or move and i’m nearly crying or dying, because it’s not always so easy to tell. And i need to scream or to kiss you or to just know that you, whoever you are, whoever you need to be, or whoever you once were, is out alive or exists because i hear it. I hear music, the gentle strings that caress these keys and it’s all a full moon blazing at night, bathing me in light that i swim in, swim towards something, whatever it is or was or wants to be, because i’ll never know until i’m already past it and i’ve forgotten what it felt like as it slipped through my fingers, but, sometimes, when the wind blows right, i can smell it again and i’m four, flying down the sidewalk asking my mother if my cape’s blowing in the wind like i always dreamed it would be, like it had to be, until i’m back on that rooftop smoking cigarettes and trying to inhale as much of the moon that i can’t sleep without or even properly live without.

I don’t sleep much anymore, but my dreams are relentless and they tear into reality.

A blank shore with still water so clear it’s not there,

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