Some nights, half an inch or so from sleep – if that’s in fact how such a distance might be measured – I twitch and time goes sideways. I think I’d live there if I could, and when I’m there I think of you. Thanks to me we’re lost in unison. Thanks to you I can move without meaning to. If I could, I’d sing everything you sing to me to you. ~ Graham Foust

When they could press the hands of one another behind a door, without speaking, they did so, fit to crush them, in a short rough clasp. They would have liked, mutually, to have carried off strips of their flesh clinging to their fingers. They had naught but this pressure of hands to appease their feelings. They put all their souls into them, and asked for nothing more from one another. They waited. ~ Émile Zola

Love is all we could manage, its particles floating from the hard rim of the air. Our tracks were clear as a book in the fresh chance heaven threw behind us. And the pain went on searching behind your face, the snow went on falling. Once I felt your tongue work so gently into my brain, it took root in the mind-dark and branched forth again as song. Character is a failure of love, and I want to love you this morning… I want to love the darkening blue at the sky’s edge, our breath-smoke warming the air before it dissolves into a hard February day. ~ Paul Zweig (Photo by Patrick Demarchelier)

Written by 'The Girl'

There was something between us. Fingerprints of a past life. A cosmic dust or spiritual residue the likes of which embedded itself so deeply within my subconscious that it washed upon the shores of being.

The weight of the world seemed to swim in his crystal blue eyes. If I were to inhale his exhale I'd breathe in only starfish. My lone desire was to lay adrift until succumbing to the inevitable drowning where souls float like liquid silk, yet ultimately, sink like a body of stone. It was a feeling I'd come to live for. To live in the eye of that hurricane, my calm amidst his storms. Perhaps it was his sadness I loved most. His sadness which at times felt dearer to me than even my own. That inherent sadness which brought me more solace and joy than happiness itself. After all, our happiness always lived lightly in the periphery, a sub story to the richer story.

I wanted to unbutton his shirt. To slowly peel back the veiled formality that obscured his way of not only seeing the world, but of asserting himself in it. If only I could crawl my way in and lick his wounds until his heart was shiny and whole again.

If we are comprised of stardust, constellations of millennia, our bodies would have left a trail of glistening comets, remnants of the gravity between us. Always your words pinning me down, always my gestures raising you up. This is how we grow, but into what exactly? If those around us are mere reflections of a deeper truth, what does that say of evolution? Meet me where I am, not where I will be.

We embraced the present through our melancholy the way the wings of doves desired the air, unencumbered in the surrender and free to go any which way the wind were to blow. Could it be that flight was unwittingly only purposeful in finding the right branch to ultimately perch on? Does not the weight of the soul make the birds feathers at times feel like they're moving through quicksand, and only finding the sticky sap of a beautiful tree to melt one into the other, create a common thread tethering us to this beautiful world? And is this not the very thing that keeps us from floating up and away, lost in the endless ether? Fall into me, as I fall deeper in love with you.

There are no assurances, only the twin souls of hope and desire catapulting us into fear and despair, and back and forth and back again, without end or beginning, just a perpetual longing spinning itself out to infinity inside some distant black hole. There's no escape or salvation, save for the mellifluous current of waves the moon wages against desolate banks with her tempestuous moods, luring me into the gulf of you.

If we could live our lives by halves, I decided my pie would be sliced according to the heart and its chambers. Anything that didn't travel through my veins to the primary source defeated the very purpose of living. Life, they say, is an adventure, but they haven't met you. The continents only dispersed to allow your spirit to spread the seas so your river could flow straight into me. That water fills the gaps, mending the corrosive holes time wears upon the soul. Liquid courage they say. The body is roughly 60% water, so it's only natural that the walls we've built will slowly erode over time like the ocean shores.

Sing to me. If you are here then everywhere else is nowhere. Light and dark only emit a charge when connected like soul mates, the Romeo and Juliet of romantic fatalists like us, so helpless they fall hopelessly. Keep me safe and I'll keep you wild. There is no sweeter darkness than yours in my own.

The heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts, as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul. ~ Pablo Neruda

Photo by Alessandro Puccinelli

The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body.The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life’s most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights… his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?
Milan Kundera

…My limbs are rent because I clasped the clouds as mine. I owe it to the peerless stars which flame in the remotest sky that I see only with spent eyes, remembered suns I knew before. In vain I had at heart to find the center and the end of space. Beneath some burning, unknown gaze I feel my very wings unpinned, and, burned because I beauty loved, I shall not know the highest bliss, and give my name to the abyss which waits to claim me as its own. ~ Charles Baudelaire (Photo by Peter Lindbergh)

By Allen Ginsberg (1954)

The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction

the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.

Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
a miracle,
in imagination
till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
burning with purity--
for the burden of life
is love,

but we carry the weight
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.

No rest
without love,
no sleep
without dreams
of love--
be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
or machines,
the final wish
is love
--cannot be bitter,
cannot deny,
cannot withhold
if denied:

the weight is too heavy

--must give
for no return
as thought
is given
in solitude
in all the excellence
of its excess.

The warm bodies
shine together
in the darkness,
the hand moves
to the center
of the flesh,
the skin trembles
in happiness
and the soul comes
joyful to the eye--

yes, yes,
that's what
I wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,
to return
to the body
where I was born.

Language is like looking at a map of somewhere. Love is living there and surviving on the land. How could two people know each other so intimately without ever having told the old stories? You get to an age where the stories don’t matter anymore, and the stories once told so passionately become a tide that never quite reaches the point of being said. And there is no such thing as fate, but there are no accidents either. I had always loved him and we were always together. Love is like life but starts before and continues after – we arrive and depart in the middle. ~ Simon Van Booy

We must have one love, one great love in our life, since it gives us an alibi for all the moments when we are filled with despair.~ Albert Camus