I love you so much.

My Dearest Wolfie,
I tried so hard today to get you off my mind, just to see if I could and I realized that I could not. I could not because my heart wanted you to be there all day. I realize that this is so much more than anyone can fathom because you make me feel safe. Even from so far away your words and your voice keep me safe. Your promises and your smile keep me safe.
I love you.
I love you because I believe you and I trust you when you say I never have to get hurt ever again. I love you because you love me.
-Your Constanze

where have I gone,

Stressing and stressing the facts tightens the line and makes it snap. Choking on the comforters we sleep on, lacking all the trees we need to breathe with, falling overhead before the bed- the nudity of hiding in our heads. I used to close my eyes and hold myself to sanctify the meaning of my skin. To purify what I had given him, to scratch off all the residue of sin. Where are you now? Do you lay on the sand with black rocks in your hand, flipping them over again and again? That's what it was, I sank deeper because of what all rain that runs cold, quick, and thoroughly does.
I've been lied to enough to know how warm the words are.
I've been tied to this stuff ever since you gave me reason to run far.
I have cried enough times to know how wanting to drown in the salt feels.
I don't try anymore, I'm depressed, it's impressive what love deals.

I'm done, I'm always done.

So Cry

In the sanctity of your dispassion, with a heavy death laden upon your back, a cold breath blithering your skin as it strips to petals in the infirmity of autumn, love and cry. Cry as the broken day sways ever changing around the limits of malaise. Cry with rhythm to the bereft world, left to heave and cough through the swinging of the leaves and boughs. Kiss the broken ground on which love stands, some short of proud. Love- not only because its medicinal values rust like gold and diamonds in the passing time . Love- not only because the brush of your skin against mine, with closed eyes, dancing to the opus of our lust, would prove sublime. But love and cry, love and cry, love and cry, for the soft whistle of our feelings give us flight.