Perfect darkness ...

Aren't we much like these clouds?
Broken and whole at the same time.
Keeping ourselves intact with the friction of the millions of pieces that sometimes get out of place and pierce our ribs.
A complete picture of blue, or maybe black, or maybe a color not yet named by us.
Aren't we like the night when we sat in the darkness under the water tank, laughing like complete maniacs,
And it was only when the street lights came back on to fill in the surroundings did we realize how mesmerizing and perfect the darkness was. 

Brown eyes ...

The room's not big enough like it is back home.
It's clumsy, very messy and hardly ever cleaned.
But there are two beds that join like bones and somehow manage to sustain our beings on it.
There's one window, with one view, that glorifies that one tree visible and lights up the wall that has all your pictures up but we hardly ever pay attention to.
Sometimes, it's 2 in the morning and my sleeping pills don't kick in hard enough and I lay there listening to you breathe.
And some nights, when the moon is full, and your face is towards me, I can see just how your eyes curve and your lips curl and how the skin you hate so much glows with such grace.
Some nights are sweltering and you snore ever so fidgety, ever so loudly. 
But when the morning light hits your face and your eyes adjust to the brightness,
That's when I realize it's so true:
Brown eyes are just brown eyes, till you fall in love with someone with brown eyes.

Dead things ...

I have a thing for dead things. Or rather, the almost dead things.
People, feelings, desires, hopes, aspirations, leaves, twigs and trees.
I like the way they shape up so differently from the alive. No pretense, no rigidity.
They snap at the easiest blow and prick the strongest.
They stand out in the lust of nature's art and refuse to waltz to the wild winds.
They make noises and whispers of the other worlds and realms they caress in and out of.
They're there but not there, both at the same time.
They twist time to stand still on the edges of their degrading selves and they make you fall in love with the truth of their non-existential existence.
In all honesty, I have a thing for almost dead things.
They leave behind the scabs of life and delve into another version of reality that is far from apprehension.
They are the proof of non-permanence and that is beautiful in its own raw way.

Lights ...

Maybe the lights are more of us than we could ever be.
But we're going to try and make a safe landing from this inevitable crash.
And the only words that will resonate are your morning voice asking, "how do you know you're in love?"

Imperfections ...

I like imperfections.
Especially yours.
The tugs, the hugs, and the nags.
I like the hunger pangs after every two hours.
And I like the random wrap arounds in the middle of the hottest afternoon.
I like your emptiness and the way it resonates with mine.
I like the silly faces and the voice overs and the way you always forget to hang your clothes after washing them.
I like your crooked way of sleeping and the frog horn snores.
I like your face buried in my neck the first thing in the morning when you're nudging me to wake up.
I like your procrastination and the constant irritability that comes along with it.
I like it all. Every crack, every creek, and every corner.
Also, I like all these a lot more than just liking. I might just start using the word, Love.

5:45 ...

My 5:45s are weirdly nostalgic about something I cannot put a pin on. They're sad and happy at the same time, in the same proportion. But sometimes they're empty and hollow with orange blue skies.
My 5:45s are hard to type out and harder to say out in words. But they knock on my ribs every evening and rustle much like the leaves outside my window.
My 5:45s remind me that some things and some people will leave, no matter how much you wish otherwise.
My 5:45s smell like you. And sometimes, they even echo your voice. They hold my hands and curl their fingers in to mine. They carry the warmth of sleeping beside you, a habit I cannot ever shake off.
My 5:45s are mostly with you.
Distant. But they're always you.

My demons ...

I'm terrified of the demons that lurk within me
The ones that send my brain into overdrive
They remind me that the night is long and the days short now
And they have unraveled my secrets like dug out bones
I'm terrified because they remind me, I'm one of them.