untitled.

the other

my days just repeat

as i sit, looking face-to-face with a screen

and neither of us can take each other seriously

we discuss everything.

i feel joy, i feel comfort around you

seeing your face

hearing your voice

there's someone there to remind me that i am unique

and they write it like it's genuine.

authenticity is one of the most valuable things a person can have when they feel low.

startling images shake my mind

when i'm face to face with the other

who i don't know all too well

we discuss everything

i feel scared, i feel strange around him

seeing his face

hearing his voice

watching how he acts

i know it feels wrong how i can't stop returning to the boys he calls home

acting like they're you

but without it being genuine.

there's no authenticity laden in his voice and it sulks deep

a snake getting out of its lair

just to discover that i am merely prey

the silence lingers and i can't tell when the snake will strike instead of luring it in with words and false promises

"you're amazing."

snap.

paranoia and curiosity drives me to the other.

the taste of risk on your tongue and knowing that it was a mere pile of tinder. fuel for a fire to come later on.

every other has felt like a hand showing me into a new and dangerous world,

but it's a story i already know the ending to.

i don't feel that when i'm with you. i don't scream in shock.

we discuss everything.

and i'm ever so grateful to have someone who will write to me like it's genuine

even though i lie to myself

because out of inconceivable paranoia

i feel like you're

another other.