Residual memory. Residual touch. Long into the night, and long into your arms. There’s love on your chin, and sorrow on your lips, a sullen kinda beauty that dances between each letter of your name to the tips of my fingers. That name I say each day. That name that’s as natural to me as my own. The outline of your body, and the glow of your tricky soul. Such sappy shit makes me wince. That I feel such feelings leaves me weak, but these feelings are what give my life meaning. So many ghosts. So many versions of so many people, and yet only you come through. Each tooth and each hair. Each story and reflection that collide like stars. The reasons why. The dreams we wrap ourselves around. These doors. So many doors. So many versions of so many passengers, and yet there’s only you. One moment there’s a wave of regret and doubt that crushes me into the dirt, and then your image that brings with it a song that turns my bones to glue. From the sun to the moon and back again. Through the wasted years when stillness and silence were louder than anything, to the hours when I hated you, those hours when the way you made me feel scared me more than anything. A grown man shouldn’t be so desperate. A grown man should be in control, but even after all this time, you get inside my heart and make it sway in such ways no one else would ever believe. Sometimes I wish to be cold, to be a statue, and then here you come with that smile that shoots through my skin like a bullet. Without that smile of yours, my love would be so ordinary. Without you and the heartbreak you bring, life wouldn’t interest me at all.