I feel like I’m floating,
floating in some great abyss,
but it’s not dark in here.
It’s blinding, blinding
with light and stars
and dust and vastness.
Answers. Plans.
Less distance.
That’s what
I’m thinking about
when I think of you.
These thoughts
aren’t entirely self-driven.
They are out of care, for you.
I grew so attached,
so quickly,
and I think you did too,
else this wouldn’t be so hard.
I’m comfortable
in this floating,
but I know that’s not shared.
What is your gut saying?
Does it align with your left-brain?
I hope I’m not making this harder
for you by sharing these thoughts.
I know, I probably am —
me and my glue-like tendencies.
Yet floating here,
and liking you so dearly,
it feels easy, simple.
I’ve got the feathers,
the breeze beneath my wings
to carry on like this.
Is it sustainable?
Maybe, maybe not,
but I think that’s
something we get to define.
So It Goes 