closed eyes

squeeze hard enough to block out the truth.
the truth that no matter how hard you try, people will still fail you.
you will be let down.
(this is not a pick me up)
the enduring hours that take up minutes of precious hope and optimism, nobody really gets it.
too bad we cant all just admit we are similarly confused.
there is no end in sight to this race that does not end until our legs are turned into mushy pulps of bones and flesh. the grueling existence of trying to live life in the moments worth keeping.
live in a past that is spotted with glimmers of sunlight.
live in a world that is going to boil us to death. slowly getting hotter until before we know it, our brains explode in our skulls.

this was all written long ago

these eyes that drip sleep and crust with dreams.
tracing the veins up legs and down arms.
smooth backs and smoother lips.
this is the moment when you realize its not love, its familiarity.
the smell of her hair that sticks to pillows, the smile in the voice, the holding of hands, the laugh on the other end-
call it love. call it a soul mate. call it a best friend.
but its familiarity.
what if the pretense of the romantic relationship was cut out, and it was just the connection of mind and body?
stare hard enough at her skin to realize its just like yours. just as damaged, used, and wanting of a warm body next to it.
dear reader: find me.