Sometimes it’s harder
to say hello
than I love you.
My tongue is a root
without water.
My mouth is full
of splinters and dirt.
We sit across
from each other
not speaking
and I wish
you’d say something
So that I’d know
it was okay
to talk to you.
Maybe you really
are a star
and if it is so
then maybe you
don’t even exist
in the same
place and time as I do.
Though it is more likely
that I am the one burning.
If only I weren’t so shy,
so overrun with butterflies,
so fucking me all the time.
Then I might surprise you.
Then I might not second guess.
Then I might find
a hundred ways to confess.
I might really be the wind,
turbulent and gentle
dreamy and existential,
everything and yet somehow
nothing at all.
mindlovemisery 