If you were a mountain range,

I’d find the darkest part of you and stay there. I’d make a home from the overgrown trees and the earthy smell of your soil. I’d hide myself in your deepest cave, and search for the cracks in its walls or the places where nothing but dark creatures live. I’d place my hand against your stone over and over until my hand print slowly formed. I’d find the ugly parts, the cold ones where sun just doesn’t reach, and I’d get comfortable there, in your shady darkness. And then, after feeling your unsteady parts, the parts where your ground just isn’t quite solid, id set fire to your dead trees. I’d start slowly, with those old dried out twigs, and move to your fallen branches until my fire covered your lifeless trees. I’d use every ounce of oxygen in my body just to stoke it. And once it was nothing but cinder, I’d clear the way. I’d use my hands to move the ashes away, and I’d find whatever water I could and I’d watch new life grow. If you were a mountain range, I’m sure I’d get lost trying to find the peaks, but id never give up, because my chest never stops pushing me forward and I’ve never felt such a pull towards something. If you were a mountain range, I’d touch each tree just to feel its bark, and I’d find every hidden lake or massive glacier and I’d sit, patiently, waiting for something to change. If you were a mountain range, I’d be your park ranger and I’d learn you from the tips of your peaks to the darkness of your caves and I’d never forget the way you looked at sunrise. Because I said I’d do that. And because even after all this, I keep trying. I just thought I’d let you know, if you were a mountain range, I’d build my home on you.

I saw you today.

No, like really saw you. You were limping and that timid look you always give turned quickly to desperation. Your damaged leg you held next to your face and your long ears pulled back against your skull like if only you could shrink yourself to the point of disappearing, you’d live that much longer. You made it to the tree but I could tell that those remaining three limbs of yours could only take you so far. I’m sorry I didn’t see you before. Limping on your own, trying to deconstruct your own anatomy for the sake of sanity. I wish that my skeleton was made of jelly so that I could mimic your structure. I’ve seen some before that reminded me of you, but I actually saw you today. In those eyes that were so wide they looked like they were grasping on to any light that they could.

"Come to our show"

You weren’t that beautiful, and your hair hadn’t been washed in god knows how long. That adorable little smile and the way you practically forced us to listen to your little monologue of your band was pretty sweet. If your band hadn’t played at a kegger in someone’s house I didn’t know, or the other people of your little ensemble hadn’t looked so terrifying I would have gone. It was nice to talk to you for a moment though, Brian with an I.

Today, I needed a smile from someone

And yours was sufficient enough. Thank you.

Those big towering Flat Irons were yours in my head.

Your hands, which always made me cry, were the ones who sculpted them. I always imagined that at one point or another you cut your heart in half and put one half in the mountains and the other half in the ocean. Unfortunately for me, that means I didn’t get any of it. I could tread on the ground that carried it. I could put my ear to the Earth, or stand on the beach and hear it then. I fell in love with a heart that wasn’t mine to begin with. It’s strange that you went from existing in everything I did, to a complete and total stranger. I wonder where those weird feet of yours will take you, and what those hands, those emotional hands, will create. 

Your feet looked so light

and I could see the waves of a carefree soul radiating from your eyes. What was most beautiful about you was that you weren’t so beautiful, and that you held yourself with a childish slouch. I never heard your voice, but your laugh filled my veins with an excitement that I didn’t know was there. Just so you know, I aspire to bring as much light through a dark room as you did. 

I just want you to know that this feeling of floating around is something that has always scared me.

And for some reason I’m just going to trust I’ll find my footing with you soon.
You don’t read these. I just still feel the need to say them I guess.

I’ve been writing you a lot of letters recently,

And if you’ve seen some of them you haven’t acknowledged it. I don’t know what it will take to break your silence but I’ve been sitting for days thinking what i can do and I realized the only way to really stay sane is to think of all the reasons you and I could be wrong.
So, here it is: You’re water. You can move quickly, flow through this earth with as much or as little force as you choose. You’re sporadic and random and you can switch from the heavy waves of an ocean shore line to a stagnant puddle in seconds. I am aware that you’re alright with standing still, but my being is made up of flames and I’m running low on things to burn up.
Even with this though, I can see how it can be lovely. Maybe it’s good that this flame is getting lower, calmer. Maybe my heat will turn you into steam, and you can relax and take a deep breath.
Either way, I wish you’d give me some sort of something so I knew you’d come back to make tea.

Maybe it’s cause your shoes seemed a little small.

Or maybe it was the way your spine seemed to curve a bit out.
I don’t know, but I do know that I could see the map of heart break written in the wrinkles between your eye brows, and the distant smile of a lover lost in your lips. Something about those angry eyes really set me off, but I’m glad that they did. Your posture reminded me that relying on other people will only end in crooked bones and a face that’s less welcoming than the sunny one I have now. 
Thanks for that.  

I know you feel like you’re falling apart,

but I promise you that your skeleton is enough to hold up your beautiful mind and heart. When I think about you, all I see is how creation just seems to flow from those finger tips and how that crooked smile seems to light up a gloomy day with all it’s imperfection. I know this probably won’t change much, and that’s okay. I just wanted you to know that even if your skin does fall off, I’ll still love those shiny bones of yours.