Light my cigarette and then your own, and then maybe call in sick so we can spend the afternoon in bed together reading dog-eared books while watching vintage pornography on your laptop. The shadows that lurk on the streets outside, they make us feel as if we’re inseparable. They make us feel almost as if we’re complete. Sometimes when we’re both on the same page, there’s lovemaking and the good stuff that follows. Sometimes when you fall asleep, I sketch your face in my notepad imagining all the ways I could hurt you. It’s not that I’m a bad person, at least I don’t think it is. It’s just that you need to remain anchored, for whenever you begin to fly away, I’m afraid I might lose you. I’m afraid you’ll not have need of me, so I clip your wings and hold you close. Whenever you cry, I see myself in the tears that roll down your cheeks. When you curl into a ball in a fit of despair after yet another argument, this is what I feel inside but can never express because I’ve never known how. Please, put your heart in mine and make me come alive. Give me your mouth and do your best to breathe me back to life. As leaves fall before the winter sun, come undone in an act of beauty unlike anything I’ve ever been able to show, and stir the lover inside of me. Shake him out of his slumber. Wrench him from his funk. There should be words. There should be actions. But as hard as I try, they never seem to materialise. Instead, there’s only a silence you mistake for content. Or is it contempt? Nothing seems to make much sense, and so this thing just goes on and on much the same as it always has done.