typewritten words

i can sit here and pretend
like I didn’t notice you
plotting your escape
hours ago
days ago
months ago
in all your little hesitations
and the way you build your walls
as if you never laid
a single brick
i can sit here and pretend
like i didn’t watch you
sealing yourself away
hours ago
days ago
months ago

but i did.

Two souls are sometimes created together and in love before they’re born. -F Scott Fitzgerald

Real life.

Where names are not preceded by @ symbols, and showing emotion goes deeper than choosing a yellow face with a corresponding expression, and pressing ‘send’.

Where conversations are longer than 140 characters, and people touch each other with hands and mouths and skin, instead of typewritten words proclaiming how much they wish they could. Where laughter has a sound.

Real life. Unedited. Unfiltered.

I hope to meet you there someday.

Aren’t we supposed to keep away from poison berries that grow in our garden?
Those beautiful red projections on an equally bright green plant; so welcoming and beckoning that poor little Tim couldn’t resist.
He had to be admitted for a week in the hospital.
You know, you’re that black hole that we mistake for a gateway to another Universe.
A dark, but promising sea of endless gore and addiction.
You’re the set of footprints in a kitchen garden’s wet mud which match no one’s shoe size in the house.
You’re the extra tea left in the pot even though dad took extra precaution to measure four exact cups.
You’re the memory that seems more like an imagination.
You’re the dejà vu in a new country, the last sip of coffee that has too much sugar.
Baby, you’re the peg people pass out during, you’re the broken counter after a bar fight.
You’re so beautifully devastating that without you, there would be too much perfection in this world.
And so,
I left the gates open.
The problem is, you still think you’re lost.