Tell Me You Love Me.

In the bridge in my brain is where I met God, my hand taken over by my right brain after a broken attack, clutching my pen to approve of my left hand's behavior. Shut up to my mind, while I'm icing your crayon, waxing your cranium with apologies and memory. I miss green beans with you but nothing else, except most things. But I'm off topic now. Here's what's really going on...

I am wrapped up in you, curious of what you got me, searching the waves between us to find where in your mind I am, given the situation. I am crying underneath an apartment made of blankets and a severe lack of criminal activity. Here, I am safer than I have been in my entire life and I can't handle the suspense. What happens when people begin behaving is that sometimes they become boring. I remember cradling in the corner saying at least we weren't that. Now I am cradling into you like you could save me from trying to save everyone else. I am crying in the corner tears of joy or chopping onions, but not depression. I cannot find where I belong in the sea of something similar because this is something different. In the midst of memory, I am your lost goat, I am your cream cheese and lox, and I am good for you in a way you haven't figured out yet. See, you and I fell in love the same, based solely on hope and heartbreak, but it is not something I regret. Based on you, I am figuring out that nothing ever goes away- only sits there in your brain like a dormant volcano, waiting to explode and kill everyone you know and care about. My panic has been seeping out of my pores like a bad sweat, completely out of somewhere but the roots are uncertain. The only thing I am sure of is God and panic, breaking and entering, and breaking and entering and breaking and breaking and breaking and tight fists clutched in fear inside the bathroom at work, mascara reminding everyone that you are just a litttttle unstable. I want you to know that I would not trade anything in my life for something complex ever again. Repeat how sorry you are, repeat how different you are, cry to a boy who doesn't owe you understanding, let him know more about you than you should, give him a chance to prove that he is more in love with you than you knew before, remind yourself that this is good love, that there is nothing to fear but the unimaginable grips of panic and depression, and that the truth is, at the end of the day it might be your own hand you hold but he will still be trying, curled up in your love waiting until you come home and realize you're beautiful.