coffee with more than friends.

even with the passing days, nights come quick, but you're quicker ... eagerly awaiting what used to be me. i'm not sure who this is anymore, some pale version of who i want to become, open and returned to the grave i was crawling over when you met me.

so the dark saves me from having to look into your eyes. gift me your war stories, and i'll show you my scars. we'll kill some time together in the way we know how, holding each other at arm's length and offering up some solace from the genius that's tearing both hearts apart.

you'll be more confined, and i'll stare directly into irony. open eyes. closed fists. beat them all down.

kiss my storm and tumble through this time we have left together, because there's nothing more simple than how you make me laugh.

and thank you for this space between your fingers where we're slowly figuring out that mine belong. and you're welcome for these questioning looks of mine for which i don't require answers.

it's all a matter of time, and we'll discover what we're supposed to use it for once we're done.

for now, give me your palm, and i'll draw pictures with my fingernails, so they show up in only red.

it wasn't always today.