I know there is a terrible distance between us. But our bodies are made of stardust, and we are hurtling through space and time, toward the most beautiful collision.
You’re young and there’s still so much ahead. So much uncertainty and doubt. It keeps you up at night-this wild, restless feeling. But you don’t know how free you are. For this short, miraculous time, you have no one to answer to, nothing to lose. You belong wholly to yourself.
I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will.
You are a writer bleeding words onto a page. And the ones who hate you will trample on that page. And the ones who love you will cut you, to keep you bleeding.
Our love story comes to me in waves, in movie stills and long summer afternoons spent under a sky of incessant blue. I still think of your eyes in flashes of color, your hands in a frenetic, feverish blur-your smile a mosaic of light and shadow. I still find myself lost in those moments of abstraction.
I’m the one having to pander to you. I’m sick of being the one doing all the chasing. I’m not asking you to make me a priority – I know you’ve got a lot going on. But at least meet me halfway.
