If You Leave I Hope You Need To Come Back

You look like the songs I've heard my whole life coming true.

I WANT TO SHOUT THE THINGS THAT ARE ON MY MIND!

But I'll settle for all CAPS. Our generation, we speak in riddles. And I'm sarcastic as the best of them. There is something about our method of speech that blatently denies any former rules and adheres only to remaining scandalous and backwards. We don't function in honesty, just shock and awe. Constantly demanding the answers to life be furthered, without gaining ground ourselves.

I've got the virus and I'm coughing up truth. Choking on my own honesty, getting it out of my system. Hot tea won't do it for me. I can't get this off my tongue fast enough. My fingers won't go as quickly as my mind. Synaps snapping and running courses they know so well. It's a river in here, rain on the roof. I write as I think and so it makes sense only to those of us without a train of thought. Feel this.

If I dial your number, it means I want you next to me. I can't express my emotions via technology. There is something real about standing in front of someone, as strange as it seems. You're on my mind, sitting there above my left ear and bouncing your heels off the side of my head. If you've got something to say, shout it out!

Trust me. This is the time to breath, just in case you forget later. I shake my head when I want to say something that I won't say. I speak in other languages when I'm frustrated so you won't understand, but I do wish you would - per quel che vale. There is something in the way it breaks. Not quite right, claro que no. But I'll let you know when things change. If they ever do. Sing to me in silence. Speak me silly and show me up.

I can't give you an answer. Only more questions. There is something backwards to this noise we call speech. It's like we're trying our damnedest to not understand one another. Cosa? I'll work on that. Find me piled under grammar and punctuation. Dig me out to retrieve my body. I'm not sure reviving me will be plausible at this point. It'll be your words that bring me back. Build me up. This is just your imagination.

Joyeux. There isn't enough here to keep me. Isn't enough here to hold me. I'll never sit still, don't make me. You don't know what you're asking of me. I am different, but I am still me. There is a middle name somewhere in the midst of this. Photograph me while I'm not paying attention. You'll get a truer picture that way. I hope you leave me speechless. I can't rewind what didn't happen. Or fast forward what won't. Time doesn't exist, see? Not really. We're all just words. Words built out of dust, given breath and love to do with what we like. Tongue tied abroad. Blink.

Troppi.