nathanael.ink

I want to depict you in every way I could ever think
lo, written words between us have become a byword. a mockery. a cause for dispute. evidence of injustice.
I want to write you out a hundred million thousand ways.
give me the time.. give me ever after

to phrase it. to pronounce the words like your name
to say words with the hight of your beginning Ee
let me finish them all with the solidity of your outright and unruly Dd
yes even in what is near meaningless to your person, in what encases none of your person, only the affiliation to your face it has gained, and is thereby worth a note, here and there, so admonish.

I hardly know you anymore. so this too has me scrapping.

how long will this youth last? do old men ever sit in their chairs with such youth in their hearts? such junior high in their hearts? such an unadulterated, unshakably unreasonable feeling(at best) for some image of a woman they knew times ago, but now only pray they survived, and survived well.
Do they keep telling themselves, on their porch swing under cracked untreated porch roof wood, saying “I could light the sky in letters, I could write ‘love’ in the city lights, I could spend all my money to do it, and she would see then that I would spend so much money on her, and she’d equivocate it to her immediate value, and feel valuable thereby, and know I value her most of all”

faint heart never won fair lady.