"The first time her laughter unfurled its wings in the wind,

we knew that the world would never be the same."
-- Brian Andreas, Still Mostly True

"I said his heaven would be only half alive;

and he said mine would be drunk:
I said I should fall asleep in his;
and he said he could not breathe in mine."
-- Emily Brontë

Revīsere:
Succinct or prominent late evenings or early mornings, loss of two job titles, inability to keep abiding schedule, the gaining of space of hole residing inside chest, speedy conclusions, impulsive movements and insights said aloud, lack of food intake or growth of naught appetite, high attempts in cold shouldering against abusively drugging the mind, high attempts in befittingly consuming the proper drugs to fulfill the mind, decrease in bountiful laughing spells, crying spells over the tiniest of subjects or subjects quite unfamiliar with pain, calories and calories and more calories, television reruns and favorite show marathons, setting fire to my bangs, counting the scars that seem to taunt and wondering over if anyone else can perceive, keeping doors wide open to escape the heat walls form, counting down by finger the hours and minutes and seconds until the moment able to find you again, ignored telephone calls for supposedly good reason, holding tighter to your collar than that of anyone else, waking against your accidental fist or elbow, pining for older (suggesting time, not age) folk never seen, gravely wasted instants lost forever, creativity and intelligence to be of no avail, altercations: disagreements found within the weakening lineage about all sides, days running fast beneath immobile stance, forgetfulness of those pressing memories wished never gone, the breaking of an adamantine and once brass-bound soul.

Aperçu:
"According to Greek Mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." 
-- Plato's the Symposium

Pensée:
Photograph cannot imprison these points, with the inability to comprehend or note such bloom of what was thought to begin its perish. I try, I try, I try so considerably to impeccably recall that of what is blurred, for I would like to never perceive the most nebulous of days without it. Fix in the mind what the pupil cannot foretell, recollect and hold dear of what is so vague and thin like smoke. We were near the entrance of where our residence resides, which is firmly lavished to its tip top with plentiful twists and turns. We were presently on a simple turn, facing the direction having locked eyes with Kings Highway, which you would not know anything of. Hardly several feet before a stop sign, I felt you employ your biggest toe against the brake slowly, just so you could find my irises in the lackluster of light. You searched and then settled upon their tiny kingdom of bright chartreuses and indigos, producing pause in order to then cause a panoply of importance. And then you whispered,
"Whenever you are thinking negatively...or you're depressed, think of this moment here: I love you, no matter what." You inhaled softly, then exhaled calmly.
"And I know that you have all of these people telling you that you need to do this and you need to do that, but..." A single pause.
"Just remember that I will always be there to care for you. You don't have to worry about that." And a pool of warmth emptied itself throughout my body and over my delicate soul, shoving fluidly into me an emotion I had somehow misplaced: Contentment. I no longer wish to move - to only lie within your presence and this parade of our love, drinking down bits of your amity towards myself, until there is nothing left and I am no longer starved. And you can breathe. 

“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly,

but rarely admit the changes it has
gone through to achieve that beauty."
-- Maya Angelou 
 

Even over the telephone, I could see C's smirk as he encouraged me to run down the stairs and outside to him, as soon as possible. Dropping the receiver and bolting throughout the front door, my pulsation sped onto high heights, a giant gust of air lodged inside my lungs, protruding my chest outward as I took the stairs in twos and then threes. A silver Honda Coupe pulled forward quickly into the parking space just before my toes and I stood there steadily, eye lids narrowing about my irises as my pupils searched for a grin identical to the one I imagined just moments ago. A loud horn then blurred my vision, yet I could faintly see C's pointer finger drawing me closer than how far from him I was. It had that new car smell and I breathed the leather, the wood, the paint, the gas, and the beautiful man aside me into my soul, allowing the aroma to sit there and rest for as long as it wanted to. He drove myself about the block a couple of times just so I could feel the ground glide briskly beneath me, following the two circles ending each street corner over and over, because we had no where to go - but forward. I wanted to admit to himself that I thought of how we were like circles, how our love was like circles, lasting forever and remaining eternal. I wanted to admit to himself that I counted on four fingers how many times he took to check in with me today, whilst he employed his thoughts and actions to his father. C was then a handsome, trancing human being as he hastily pulled his new vehicle from its parking space and it made me wish to kiss him lightly. 
"I knew you would like it. I thought about you while I bought it," he noted. 

"I was never really insane except

upon occasions when my heart was touched."
-- Edgar Allan Poe

Every singular thing is a distraction: crooked thoughts processing and divulging fangs in attempts to not be embraced or even sought after. Wish it all would fall around my positioning like a decrepit home, a disaster. One that no one would expect to be a new start. Flicking of ash and its disappearance into the wind, like it had never been there beforehand, like I am doing so with the pieces of my interior. I must smoke this cigarette and think, smoke and think, for I cannot remember anything. Not one singular thing.

They say, Death is easy, living is what is difficult, and I believe in that.

There wasn't a breeze and there was not any sunlight to be seen, for it hid beyond the white clouds in the dullness of the day. Dullness of the day which seem to shove into me and leave me gasping for the air that I no longer held safely within my two lungs. Leaning my heavy body against the balcony railing, five flights higher than the ground, rummaging around in my soul with my fat knuckles for the courage to jump. Even if I would not die, I would ache, and that would be enough. Father could see such turmoil in my face's lining, inching closer and then close enough to hold, which he did. There, there, he patted my backside like the baby that I am. I wept,
"I know that it is not, but I feel as if everything is falling apart." I clung to the awkwardness of this moment, aware that I have never touched my father for longer than now in years. We tried not to care. He merely held me tighter and planted a peck of a kiss in my long, auburn filaments. A kiss, that even a breeze, if there was one, could not take away. 

Wonderment, the constant hint that you may, in fact lose me. Do you feel it? Because I do, I feel it all, I feel everything. Myself losing myself. Filling crates and boxes with secrets and secrets,  fastening their tops and placing them in the farthest corners of my mind, hoping to never find them for twice. I can feel what of myself that is going insane, as frightening as that is. And so it filters into what I am, and who I've been, and who I will become, like water, like liquid. Seeping, all over, everything. Ruining.

"Don't raise your voice! Why must you always make a scene?" 

Means of contacting:

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“Sometimes I feel like there’s a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing… I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. I don’t know. Maybe I had my happiness. I don’t want to believe it, but there is no man. Only that moon.”
-- Sally Owens - Practical Magic