Squid Love

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.

Sometimes,

It feels like trying to lift heavy objects with eye lashes, or attempting to drag something huge through thick melted chocolate by a thread. Whatever it actually is, you know it’ll snap easily. I’ve been alone recently. Like actually alone, not the whole cut yourself off from everyone alone because when you do that solitude isn’t actually achieved. My fingers feel weaker, and slippery. I tried holding your heart for longer than I should have. You’d think my lesson would have been learned after a month of silence, but your promise of home weighed down each individual rib in a comforting sort of sadness. I don’t know what happened, where I lost it, but I looked down and what was left in my palms was nothing but old wounds reopened and salted. I feel like those thick green leaves that had started to bud and are now sinking with the weight of that snow. It looked so calm and clean, but what I realized is that frozen water is still water and whether it’s fast or still you can still drown. I tried for a while to just drink it, but my stomach is full and I’m left with a brain freeze that won’t go away.
Maybe its just midnight thoughts.
Maybe you didn’t mean to.
I’m shivering though, and it’d be nice if you could at least state that you were there. I can still feel you, whether you admit to it or not.

Maybe it’s just the day.

I wasn’t going to let you be a major part of my life, you know? I was just going to keep it simple, let things happen, but then you spent twenty minutes mumbling “there’s a chance I…. I might umm…. I think I….” and then you said it and those clean strings that were attaching you and me started to get a little messier. It always does when that word comes into it. I’m here. I’ll keep reminding you until you tell me to leave. It’s messy now, those strings are tangled, but I never did liked things to be neat and tidy all the time, so I guess it’s appropriate.