And so you sit in the back of the room-Who knows what trails about in your head. Though, I do wish that I could control it, with a certain obliviousness (oblivion perhaps?) To answer my prayers, offer up tat hope that you might know what feelings are and can differentiate between significant and insignificant emotions, that if I spilled out my heart, you would take me and place me in your box of pillows
and bean bags
with walls decorated with neon reflecting traffic vests
and random sketches and tallies of things that you can do with your eyes closed,
and you'd come visit me and we'd play in the candle wax, drawing our names and melting plastic objects and maybe I'd find out that you really are amazing and not just a projection of the way I want to see you. If I could be proven right for once in my life, the air would sing to our skin.