and even less that we could do
to stop the ice from getting thinner
under me and you.


I hate:
when I write something I'm very proud of and all anyone can say is "pretty! :] " and such.
when I write according to form and no one sees it. but then again, patterns are hard enough to spot in poetry, let alone prosetry or whatever it is I write.
when I write about someone and he/she reads it and says "why, that didn't happen at all!"

because
I can't write true stories anymore.
in the process, my imagination always runs wild, and nothing comes out exactly the way it happened.
you never burned the Monroe Street Bridge.
that spider never built a web.
I never saw you cry.
you never wanted me when I wanted you.
I never thought you were beautiful when you were hurt, I only thought you were pitiful and wished I could save you.
you never smeared soot on your promise, it was Sharpie, and it was before you set the bridge alight.
you never even figuratively burned the bridge, not yet.
I never knew whether or not I slept, but I could swear I did at some point.
you never asked me for help.
I never drowned in your ocean eyes.
you never changed from the beautiful boy I loved.
I never said "I love you" when I didn't mean it. (when I didn't mean it, I said "I love him.")
I was never afraid.
I never told you that real love lives on forever.
I never told you not to love her.

but now that I've spun my own world of little lies and mighty metaphors, I'm entranced with its images. you and I on opposite banks, watching the bridge die. you and I running through the city at night and painting our love on endless office buildings. your contorted body as you sob out the most repulsive human who ever invaded you. the fury and loathing in your face, in your arms as you destroy the only concrete proof that we existed. the tide coming in and out of your tidepool eyes. the light in your eyes as you realize that she will kill you if you let her.

I dreamt of a world in which everyone lived by Sora's naive motto: "Losing someone you care about is bad, but not as bad as never getting them back!" In that world, we had no need for "hello" because we had forgotten "goodbye," and all twelve numerals on the clock had been replaced with "forever." if we walked half a mile outside the tall, fantastic city, we were in endless fields of wildflowers and grass that wrapped around our waists, where the streams were always clean and the sun was always warm.

in which world do you dream?