it seems these days I just want the dark, the dark and the silence, to curl inward until I am small and round and impenetrable, until my back doesn’t hurt anymore, my arms don’t hurt, my head doesn’t hurt, my heart doesn’t hurt, so many things hurt and nothing seems to touch any of them, not Imitrex or Advil or wrist braces like gauntlets on my arms, only the dark and the silence soothe, only in sleep am I someone who moves without pain, who flies over canyons or swims through oceans, through magma, who bends fire and water and earth, and for every dimension and law of physics I control in my dreams there is another thing uncontrollable when I wake, I doubt that’s irony but it’s cruel anyway
Lines I (Probably) Won’t Use When I Propose to My Girlfriend
but that are true nonetheless
I could watch you play Assassin’s Creed forever. Will you marry me?
I’m not physically capable of cutting my own butternut squash. Will you marry me?
You’re the only one who takes my crane fly paranoia seriously. Will you marry me?
You not only get my obscure Jurassic Park references, but you make your own. Will you marry me?
Together, you and I will be the strongest couple in the entire world. Will you marry me?
I find your intense hatred of Paul Revere adorable. Will you marry me?
You introduced me to Avatar the Last Airbender. Will you marry me?
You introduced me to Dexter. I hate you for that, but will you marry me?
I’m sorry I introduced you to Cowboy Bebop. And Swordspoint. And Under the Poppy. Will you marry me?
I really like making out with you. Will you marry me?
I want to spend the rest of my life listening to you talk like Steve Di Schiavi. Will you marry me?
Sure, they’ll call you King and God, but they’ll also call you Sacrifice. They’ll bring you gold and precious stones and perfumes, but where will they be when your hands are bleeding around cold iron? What good will all those pretty names do you when it comes time to produce a miracle out of stilled flesh? You’re only the prodigal son if you return from the darkness triumphant; otherwise you’re just another failed revolutionary who thought himself a prophet. Wouldn’t it be easier, then, to just stay gone and leave this world to fend for itself? Don’t you remember how heavy that crown is, beloved?
sometimes it feels like I am back on the other side of the mirror, palms pressed to the cold glass as I beg “thee to me, sister, thee to me” and it scares me, sure, but I know I pulled you through the glass once and I know I can do it again if it takes me a lifetime of chanting, because I may not be patient but I am stubborn as hell