Neal
Everyone has a different method of coping and yours is silence. My filter is broken; I'm getting confused with which emotion is which. All I know is that it's pain. Constant and ever-flowing pain in the form of a shortage of breathes. I am sensitive to light 'cause you're the sun I've spent too long staring at. You're also my cosmos, did I not mention that? Or did you forget? No, you could never; your loyal companion isn't me but a relative of forgetfulness: it's a sour drink that leaves a taste of evil down your esophagus. You have the power to remember anything and everything so it's no wonder you try not to feel. Because who would ever want to remember all that torture and be constantly filled with nostalgia? I know that with one ounce of a thought of you sends me into waves of anxiety as I try to shove you out as a whole but you keep coming back in swigs of a drink I can't put down. It's like you're the one placing the glass in front of me and I'm confusing choice with obligation and I can't stop drinking until I'm gone into you, only to discover that you were never there in the first place.
YOU ARE READING
How I Love You
Poetry". . . . Then must you speak / Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well; / Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, / Perplex'd in the extreme. . . ." -Act 5, Scene 2 of Othello by W. Shakespeare A collection of poems to the boys and men I hav...
