Pressure knocks at my door
A clock ticks and demands its due
The lava burns from the floor
But not in a game like it used to.

So little time to figure it all out
So many distractions to prevent success
I’m in a dark forest with no path or route
But this internal fire knows no rest.

As a kid, I never was the type to color in the lines.
I used to wonder, why do the lines even exist?
When these pictures in my head are ripe for harvesting
And I can give the world something it’s never seen before.

I’ve always hated it when authors seem to find joy
In killing my favorite characters.
With gleaming eyes they toy
With turmoil in every chapter.

Just when they’ve got you attached
To the character’s quirks and flaws
To their words and their demons
Just when you’ve fallen in love
With the character’s identity—
With a cruel turn of the lip
The author smirks and kills them off
And at our gasped pleas, merely scoffs.

But the author was God
And my favorite character was you
And I still can’t believe
You’re gone.

You brought me to places
I’d have never thought to go
To a trail near the river
Where the water runs slow;
To a mountain where all we heard
Was our voices’ echo;
You showed me inward beauty
That doesn’t show in photos.

Sometimes it feels like even if
Every inch of my skin was touching yours
I still wouldn’t be close enough to you.

Love starts as a feeling,
But to continue is a choice;
And I find myself choosing you
More and more every day.