You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.

The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...

-Walt Whitman


another fear

I LOOK AT YOU from this distance and for some reason, gravity tightens, lightyears shrink, compressing into a single point in time, this moment. We are so close, almost touching at the sudden shift. But like a star just above the horizon, you’re only a far-off dream, a memory echoing at the edge of my consciousness. You come to me in wavelengths, and in light. A mirage, a song from a farther room. Reason will define you as an illusion, a distorted reality. I refuse to believe that.

You’re all too real, clear, and everything else is eclipsed. It is my reality that I question as I saturate myself with your light, holding onto your every word, helplessly terrified of the first contact, skin to skin, of imploding, breaking into sparks at your feet.

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