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there was this lullaby i would sing for you, written by your tongue and masked as your edges.
all of your formants said the same thing. you were there,
all over me and myself — i, as much on you.
almost like i had seen this in a dream. one where we were both walking home after too many drinks.
we lost our phones in the same fountain we stole time from. it was once a wishing well, maybe a place to make tribute to.
for us, each other's undivided attention was the sacrifice…so naturally — the phones went in.
i dont think there was any destination, we just, went…and it wasnt at the first impulse where we stopped.
it felt like a pilgrimage. i suppose you're never supposed to know what you'll turn into after, you just know of a place and how, yes.
you must get there.
we stopped and sat, with nothing else left to do but speak circles around everything that had brought us here. we toasted, to something — no clue what.
in every new memory there came a chaser and a new toast. we went off whatever was last spoken.

i say red, you said blue.

almost subconsciously trying to outdo, and eclipse the other. i guess that's when i first learned what competitiveness tasted like. though, i didn't want you to lose. nor me to win.
there was still this addiction, high…drunkened dress-shaped haze i'd slip into for spaces like this. seeing you blush from a dumb remark,
i know where i wrapped myself, what was shaded like me. finding that underneath your skin,
hovering near your heart. roots of an equal bloom — im still everywhere all at once. crawling to the whites of your eyes so that everyone else who may gaze there, would just frighten at the sight of
me — you. there's always a next, right?
god forbid i can't be there. i dont want it laboring or sharp in nature, though.
what does dysfunction feel like? confusion, thought loops, all the things you cant quite shake off your branches. replaying again and again…i want to linger like you do in every function of me.
I actually, want This. to hurt.
we couldnt remember the amount of toasts, let alone what we said during it all, and after a return to the first circles we traced on each other's body.
the other part of a pilgrimage is the return.
it never feels as long on the way home though, or maybe just after smiling yourself silly.
your feet become a little bit lighter. body, too. your mind can wander more free.
all the street lights are glowing, glowing this warm hue that refracted off your blush.
it had almost fooled me until i realized it was just you flushed Red.
you were singing to yourself and i finally admired that you weren't as tone-deaf as i thought you were. on the beats in between to catch your breath, i looked up and heard humming, but only in atonal ways. constant, buzzing ways.
the kind that you hear for a lifetime and only once you move away from home, you finally understand what the hell "noise pollution" even is.
but it kept getting louder, and suddenly there was no pitch to fake a melody.
it was not coming from you, nor from me. it was gnawing, it was festering something inside of my chest. there were words, and they werent even parsable. it felt like speech in binary, electricity's hymn — something i could never fucking understand in the first place.
after walking for so long i began to think that the power lines had taken a liking to me.
i saw a downed one up ahead. there were no more thoughts i could find to compete with.

i took a breath and before i had filled my lungs up, my hand reached — i took a fistful of your hair and reminded myself of every little thing i had been missing my whole life.