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it takes all my strength not to dig you up from the ground in which you lay  

Everything’s fine.

But is it? We talk about these times. We marvel over them and pray for them and hope and wish and spend every second of our lives dreaming of them. The pain that makes your stomach dry and cracked. The feeling that makes you write beautiful words. The hope. There isn’t anything to say about the hope, because it’s just peeking through. But i’ve been taking it hard, like a kick to the gut. It isn’t about the boy, but he’s a real looker anyhow. It’s about the fear. The sickening desire. It’s so strong it makes your fingers curl. It makes you kill yourself each night behind the glow of a screen that keeps you so close but so god damn far away. It tells you anything can happen, but you can’t bring yourself to get up, put yourself together, fix your crooked lips and agree. So you choke and heave and break over the feeling that maybe you’ll never stomp your feet playfully into the beaten wood floors again, or bathe in the glow of the fluorescent lights. Or soak in that stare. So many eyes raping your posture and self esteem, but there’s a pair in them all that’s gentle, pleading for a closer peek. 

Maybe that’s just me.