this is the point i'd like to tell you how i really feel about you:

this is the point you sit down and shut up and keep your wandering fingers to yourself. put them in your pocket, in your lap, shove them in your mouth, down your throat, in the fire, under the knife. frankly, it doesn't matter to me -- just keep them to yourself. you have a nasty habit of trying to pickpocket emotions that aren't yours to have and trying them on for size when no one is looking. you have nervous fingers that pluck at loose strings to see if you can unravel the tapestry. you have a terrible way of picking at the chipped paint as if you have the power to erase the beauty spread across the sistine chapel. let me clue you in: you don't.

so be quiet, swallow your tongue, understand the forever trapped between the glow of his words isn't for you to capture. you had your chance when the world was new and the passions were leaking out of his pores and you turned away. you had the moment for the span of a breath and you paused, you lingered, you missed it and now it's gone. so now you can wonder. sit in your corner and think. dwell on murky memories and the hellhole of what ifs. imagine how his lips taste like a fever and his hands like a drug and when he's holding you close it's like you've suddenly acquired the need to be hospitalized. imagine flat lining and spiking and running out of breath when he catapults you over the edge. dream of how he has the hands of a violinist and can pluck your nerves until you're a symphony stretched across the expanse of the globe.

keep wishing.

you can't snip my memory out and replace it with your hollow words. you can't peel me off his life like rubber from the road, burning your palms on the shredded tire but at least getting the job done. his veins are tangled down the length of my spine and trying to snap my bones will only bleed him out. his breath is resting at the bottom of my lungs and his pulse is washing up the shores of my heart. we're more than you can understand, more than you can comprehend, more than you'll ever achieve. you can cover the moon with your thumb if you close your eye, but it's an illusion and lives built on mirages wash away at the first storm. we're the moon and you're too small to eclipse us. we're the forever you thought you had. so keep your poison to yourself. drink up, because i see what you're doing. swallow it, because you're not taking what's mine. you're a thief, but the sun is too big to fit in your moth-eaten pockets.

so sit down, shut up, keep your hands to yourself.
fate isn't a thread to be plucked by your petty hands.
so stop trying.