The subtle things that slip,
and fade and cease to be,
or suddenly come into being,
between words and lines,
soft sighs or the angry.
They grow and shape,
and merge and form,
and melt and break,
and capture me fully,
only to let me go once again.
And I have never felt this,
any of it,
before.
I've never meant this,
any of it,
more.
And these things,
pick up where we left off,
or stop where we fall,
or hold me captivated still,
and make me walk through my mind,
like I've never been inside it so deeply,
or sharing it so willingly.
I am glad they do,
and feel sometimes strong and capable,
but close as it is,
it feels terrible,
when the size of the words is too small for the task,
and the size of the feeling too big for the heart.
I guess that's how you know,
that you,
and it,
are real.
2013.