I do not know where my skin meets the sea.  

It catches the sun like a stone, rolling softly off winds from the North and I do not know where the grass is green.  

I only know that this smile is because of you.  

I only know that the stars are always more beautiful when you’re beside me  

and I only know I used to hate being warm until it was you who was warming me.  

Yet the darkness still scares me to death  

and the clock ticking on the mantle sends shivers down my spine.  

Must I follow?  

Must I chase every wave that crashes on the shore?  

Locked in a closet, stitching apologies out of sweaters.  

Hearing mountains of flesh groan out in hunger yet I would rather be the desert. 

Rather hide away until my collar bones become teacups,  

until my rib cage becomes a marimba,  

until I finally learn to stop hating the landscape.  

I am a half-finished finger-painting of fear and I am broken.  

Are you sure this is what you want?  

Because I could hold your hand forever. 


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