In a room where none have stepped foot since before the great fall, two lovers cuddle beneath a blanket. They watch TV and talk about this and that. It’s not their first time, and it won’t be their last, either. In years to come there will most likely be many others, but they’re happy despite how meaningless it all seems because it’s a rite of passage. You don’t get anywhere without making mistakes, and you don’t become who you need to be without experiencing what it feels like to pervert the course of another’s life. Neither good or bad, neither in control or lost. The ghosts of who we used to be are with us every step of the way, and no matter hard we try to deny them, the songs they sing are never far from our ears. Sometimes, I find myself drifting to some other place. The warmth of being in bed on a Sunday morning wrapped in the arms of a beautiful soul- it gets under my skin like the smell of burnt toast. The traces of my life in these words makes me smile. To know I have loved is enough to render me useless. It teaches me that despite how hard things become, I’m still capable of showing tenderness. This poetry- it shows mercy and yet taunts at every possible outcome. I’m sure you understand. We pretend it doesn’t matter, and yet it’s what we dream of as we lie awake at night. It’s what drives us even though we try so hard to show the world a different face. But my face is as you see it. The hand I have to play is a simple one. These words, they say only what they mean to say. No disguises, and no walls, only truth, from my heart to yours.