how to wake up.

_{sunday the first.}

let us keep it like this,
a recklessness in this bond of
ours: this everlasting wanting hidden
from me to you and the look
in your eyes while you do not notice;
the aching, here, while
i look away.

_{monday the second.}

my family, choking on air
and anxiety, all these visits to
hospitals while everyone close is
half a world away. i, selfish
and naïve, looking back,
still leaving.

_{tuesday the third.}

there are all these little
halfmade plans, gathering dust,
fading to grey, before i
even care to remember them.

_{thursday the fifth.}

i live in a clean room in a clean
house and none of this is
pretty but for the shape of you
and the desperation of me.

_{friday the sixth.}

all i want these days
is for you to reply to me
and acknowledge i exist.

_{saturday the seventh.}

this is the day where blushing
will do me no good; it will
never do me any good. if you would
drive two hours just to
meet me for the first time, then i
already know i am infinitely less than
what you are expecting, yet still
i blush invisible.

_{sunday the eighth.}

the more i think on it, the less
i am convinced. i have been wandering
this earth for only aeons and you
left so long ago. i am certain i love you
more than those frustrating mouths of truth
but i do not think of you at all.

_{monday the ninth.}

the rain pours and the
wind runs at my window, throwing
all of nature at me, and all
i can do is read.

_{wednesday the eleventh.}

it is a city of lesser known angers
and the seaspray from a creeping
shoreline flings salt at our
wounds. limping resentment and the
feeling of loneliness cuts
at our heels and claws at our
shoulders, pregnant with sighs. i
was trying to be careful.

_{thursday the twelfth.}

it is a good feeling, to
be interested in the things you
hear, but unpacking is
still the hardest thing to do.

_{sunday the fifteenth.}

i am tired
to the hollows of my
bones and the burning within
my flesh is just another
way to feel alive. all this snow
and all this touching are my
inhibitions and i am a
coward to my core.

_{monday the sixteenth.}

there is sadness that strikes,
hard and heavy, between
every one of those slats on
my window blinds
and i can feel every one
of those years like a preview
into us: always distant
and disappointed.

_{tuesday the seventeenth.}

a coldness in the air and
this nonstop shivering;
soaking wet and miserable.

_{wednesday the eighteenth.}

i was someone young
and stupid, but still there
is no one. when you decide
to pick up your thoughts,
leave your door open, invite
us in.

_{saturday the twenty-first.}

forgiveness is a hard,
complicated thing.

_{sunday the twenty-second.}

i only want for you
to trust me.

_{monday the twenty-third.}

i might have lied, before.
forgiveness is easy; people are
hard and complicated. let
me sleep again in
the creases of your palms.

_{tuesday the twenty-fourth.}

this din against my door, the
still bodies of the patient,
waiting, unseeing, for
their genetics to take pity.

_{wednesday the twenty-fifth.}

tell me of your sadness, the one
that resides beneath your
breastbone and disguises itself
as your weariness. tell me
again of the people beside you,
which ones you can look
in the eye, steady. tell me of
yourself, and i will always listen.

_{thursday the twenty-sixth.}

i always wondered, but suddenly,
i knew this was the end of our world, this
shore of rocks and the sheer drop
kilometers out, under the surf.
i was freezing cold and soaked, but i
told you i would go to the end with you
and beyond; you didn't even
want to get your feet wet.

_{friday the twenty-seventh.}

i would like to never have to get up.

_{saturday the twenty-eighth.}

i am full of these
angry words i know i will
never let go of.

_{sunday the twenty-ninth.}

sometimes i feel like i am justified
in what i do, but most of the
time, i just feel tired.

_{monday the thirtieth.}

there are always sweeter
things than you, but none half so
beautiful or strong.

_{tuesday the thirty-first.}

i couldn't figure it out, how
someone like you could
be so callous and infuriatingly
naïve. i have realized since
that i need something bigger than us,
something fuller than this non-thing
that lives in us both, or me
alone. tell me how
can you speak your mind
and hear the answer you want in
the silence? how do
you not see me in front of you?
these days, i get up
on the other side of the bed
because you have become
my wake up call.