I’ve spent the last few evenings trying to understand whether or not you’re real.
Because, if you’re not then I need this cruel joke of a pleasant dream to end as soon as possible.
The oceanic depths of my own heart are too scary for me to explore without someone to come with me.
I’ve never been down there.
And I’m really afraid to let you come, even if you asked.
It could either be euphoric, or horrific.
Massively extravagant, or cold and murky—like caves that have long been abandoned by summertime kisses from a star that happens to be kind enough to allow us all to feel its tangible presence on a daily basis.
The closer you come, the faster I want to run away from you.
You remind me of everything that I don’t think I’ve even experienced yet.
I can’t run from you.
Because, I can’t run from me.