you are perfect.

in the countless kilometers travelling to and from, my body floats through sunsets and into the wider planes beneath the surface of tomorrow. the ghosts have settled below and the feeling of lips and fabric line the outer layer of my skin like a promise. when i close my eyes and listen to the sounds, the layer glows in the dark as if i’d forget the sight. it’s that shift from shouldering the world to choosing what to carry with you. even in the kilometers we’ve cursed i can still see the glow of those dark brown ovals that flutter open in the sunlit mornings, oscillating between feathers and boards. 

fridays come bursting through the week until i can’t help but let my insides set sail. some arbitrarily numbered cloud doesn’t even begin to sum up the joys of being on the right side of the coin. spinning in the air in slow motion as if it matters which side it lands, only that it lands in the right hands. 

heartbreaking but i love this cover.

deep.

the static when the phone line dies will cull me to sleep like a window pointed toward the ocean. the sandy beaches we’ll dream up are so close i can already feel each grain between my toes. i can feel the winter nights where i insist on wearing mismatched socks just to keep my toes warm, and find comfort in doubled up pillow cases and the kind of sleepy talk where every second whisper is a secret. the bricks of a foundation grow every day and soon the window or the screen or the line will be figments of our imagination. the truest thing rings like a heartbeat.

i was really into silverchair in middle school. 

everyday one day.

We’ve slid through the waterways that filled the tear ducts of someone else’s unfinished novel. And maybe i’ve heard the same riff, and maybe i’ve turned my nose at such an obvious rebuke. Maybe we’ve pontificated about the same political figure but instead of being trapped in someone else’s tomorrow, i’ll let the hook drag me clear across the lake. And that slow motion pan of what it’ll look like when we run away together will become something grown out of untouched soil. Polyethylene hearts will melt in the sun we built out of mountains of laughter and shards of something the ghosts that haunt me call progress. Our quiet revolution will be pasted onto photos best understood when the decade turns into its most graceful. Let’s bide our time until we realize that time was our staunchest ally all along. 

Living in the inevitable present poised to regurgitate lines from a script I wrote when I was twelve or maybe thirteen. This time the charmer is charmed and I can only hold onto the tiny freckles that line your shoulder blades to keep me from floating away. Each one has its own story but I refuse to let my own imagination get the better of me when I question their order. Because chaos is like Christmas in the calm of two bodies fast asleep in the static of a television. Boney kings will anchor me like a stone. 

I’m listening to this song and watching our video on mute thinking about how i’ll see it months from now. I just listened to Impossible Germany and wondered why it was your favourite. Basking in these seemingly inconsequential conversations and feeling like maybe i’ll light fire to the field of corn stocks that dried up this summer. And we’ll dance around the flames doing our best Richard Gere impressions and laugh until our sides hurt. In the orange glow of sentimentality, i’ll risk it to get the biscuit and just be glad you even gave me the match. 

That mop of hair on your head is going to slay me, I can tell. As you peer through the strands with that crooked smile and make some joke that catches me by surprise. If this is what trouble looks like then i’ll throw myself into the current of tomorrow and never look back.