i want to know.

(because we're stuck in different mazes of this labyrinth: we were lost together only briefly, and then you took a left where i took a right, and i've been listening for the sound of your feet because i think i know how you might step because we stepped together for a bit.)

(because i only have guesses: i can't go back to look for you because i don't know how i got here in the first place; i can't go looking for you because i only find monsters and fools when i look for something i have already lost, and i can live with monsters because they can teach me something new but i don't know if i can stand fools.)

(because we are as new as we are old, and i'd like to know before i decide if i want to be newer or older today.)


not actual poetry

the internet echoes of our
private lives are
only growing louder
and more coherent
but don't let it bother you
because, you know,

privacy settings.


brb sneezing

(brb empty inside)


line break

time is still

not like
composed hands
in sepia photographs

but an empty moment
in the middle
of a



(alt. titled "caesura" for patrick rothfuss fans.)



"so is your story based on personal experience?"

"no, i haven't dated anyone who's not real just yet."