Somewhere between doubt and magic, I am manic for you; yearning

for something more, he tells me. Stimulating commitments, he tells me. It's you, he tells

everyone. It's not his fault. It's the way things work best. It's best, for me, to keep them

far away--- across oceans, across deserts, anywhere but here. Because here, I am sad

or scared, usually. There is always darkness. Sometimes there is fog. And, of course, 

there is happiness. But the hard part is not the change itself, but the changing, the shift, 

the look on my face as my eyes roll to the back of my head and I am fainting into another

place, a place where it is cloudy and soft, and easy to get lost. So, I do my best to keep

my distance, to keep distance, to keep distant-- just enough to be in love and just enough

to destroy everything I love. This is the way of my world, the way things go here, the way

you and I only needed to meet one time for my entire life to change. This is the way things

go in a perfect world. I am still left crying.