I Always Think: I Want Too Much. I Crave Something So Real And So Certain And So Magical, I Need More

I always think: I want too much. I crave something so real and so certain and so magical, I need more than what is offered to me. I cannot settle in this life. I need. I need. I need.

But then, I see you. Then, I think: I would be happy for a simple life. I would need nothing more than to spend a life in your arms. I would sacrifice everything for you. I would give up anything if it meant I could see you smile. And it would be enough. I am certain of it.

No, I don’t care that you’re messy and loud and sometimes annoying. I love you anyhow. Come over tonight. I will cook for you in the kitchen—it’s green tiles and the sun that peaks in through the windows. Come as you are. Leave your hair messy and your skin blank and your body cloaked in plain clothing. I find you most beautiful in that state—natural, beating, tender, alive. I will make us soup in my cleanest pot. It will be steaming and hot, but not too hot that it burns. I will love you enough for it to always keep you warm, but never in such a way that it hurts.

I want to create so badly, so desperately. In my dreams, I am an artist. I weave poems of delicacy and create images of beauty and sing songs of passion. I can feel her so strongly, that person in my dreams. Sometimes, it feels as though she is my shadow…following me, trailing after me, dragging behind me like a rotting corpse. I wish I could be her. I want to create gorgeous, haunting art. I want to be something beautiful.

Who’s loneliness is up manifesting itself as a prolonged, deep pain in their chest?

The hole is part of you. You cannot fill it. You can fill in the space around it, but you cannot fill the hole.

Cracks of sunlight peak through the stormy, monstrous clouds. I stroll along the sidewalk, a ladybug crawling up my arm. hello little guy, I say, you are safe. I am not sure if the same can be said for me. I am alone in this world—lost and afraid. As I stroll through the once familiar sidewalks of my hometown, I feel as though I am out of place. I do not know where I am. I do not know how to get home. I am looking for god, I tell the ladybug. the little guy does not respond. neither does god.