Not.

Collect my tears,
catch them in your hands,
feel them seep through your fingers-
don't
stop them falling.

Watch my eyes,
envelope them with your own,
swallow my sorrow
and forget

Laugh at me,
laughing at you-
to mask my need;
to protect my heart;
to ignore your unreciprocation.

Follow my toes,
crinkle your nose,
curl your fingers like a rose
thorn weaving through mine.
our eyes can close.

You are perfectly able,
to ignore what isn't there,
as i am,
to ignore what is.

So, what,
what is it?
something i can see
now
but i pretend to not.

Little wet tears on my baby's shoulder

I hear a cry of incredible pain. A shrill scream of uncomfortable frustration, with such immensity I can hardly resist the silent surrender to my curiosity. I see a face of pure emotion, mouth open wide, stretching the soft skin, leaving subtle creases of intense anger. Eyes sealed tightly with a tear welled up in each, and that button nose scrunched up, caught in the moment. The minute fingers a crushed in balls, dangling ferociously on the ends of restless, belting arms. His hands rub his ruby red cheeks and press awkwardly into his nose.

Then he is in my arms. I think of feelings similar; A girl, the other half of me, scrunched up to my chest, heart throbbing against my bosom, my arm tracing love hearts in her back, warm kisses on her forhead. A boy, kissing my shoulder and reminding me how much he loves me, heart joltingly revoltingly lovely, a hand on my neck and a hand on his belly, extended cuddles. A girl, sitting beside me, just existing and appreciating and loving and living, but being together, belonging, caring, staring, wearing eachothers hearts on our engagement fingers, effervescent smiles. A boy, prancing around like a fisk bitch, but caring through loving eyes, and being on the otherside of my fogged up window of confusion with a steelcapped hammer and some chocolate coated strawberries, lingering laughter.

But this, carried my heart hight, with much more intensity, through clouds of thunder, lightening and hail, with the burn of something mightier than a pen or a sword. Thin hair of such perfection, an object of beauty, combined with a soul of perfection, and outrageous screams. So I rock. Slowly upward, and down, from left to right, whichever way feels comfortable for him. Tiny fingers trace circles, and spirals around my neck, and grab for a clinging pinch in moments of hostile shreiks.

I feel as though I'm dancing, as a newly bloomed rose may dance in the calm summer wind, to the tune of my own heart beat, intertwined with his. I am alone, but accompanied by my own solace and a soul which I do not understand, and may not begin to comprehend it's great complex simplicities. I begin to hum. A tune to which becomes forgotten after songs of folding chairs, broken hearts, leaning on some other, and silent nights. His cheek falls upon mine, and I watch his eyelashes close softly in tired complacency. I stroke his flushing cheek tenderly and close my eyes in fine contentment.

His head slowly drops to the left, as his left hand clutches desperately at some finger. His breath is silent, and his lips pure comfortably to drool on my shoulder. I feel his legs slacken their grip, his muscles relax and his soul drift to a dreamlike state. I hum on.

It is time to farewell my new friend. I wipe away the tears and salivations from my shoulder and drift like a small lonely cloud to a place where I belong. My bed, full of pillows, soft blankets and dreams. Dreams that maybe someday I will hold something so closely sometime again, and feel such warmth and affection that I feel like crying and screaming just like him.

Dearest Morgan Rose Duhig,

Evenin' ButterRollz, the shit to my fat dog, moomoo-cah-choo, morgz, morgatron, biff, otherwise known as Sinden. Before I start talking deep shit and the like, I'd just like to take a moment to laugh out loud, not just at the hilarious shamrocktitteh comments of your messages, but at the intense irony that said cuntsmear happened to telephone me at the exact time that I was reading your message, I got the familiar scooped "heee-llo?" and replied "hey, it's mary" in a confused sort of way, to which I was responded with comforting beeping.
heh.
So, anyway.
There appears to be a lot more important things in my life and your life, our lives, or just a single life that happens to have two little heads, with unknown contents of things inside. I'd like to start by saying:
"I've always wondered what might happen if the sun exploded and sent our nine tiny planets flying accross the infinate universe like a humungous firework, possibly similar to the illicit chinese variety of minature explosive..." (1/2/10 ~ quote a-la my amelay diary)
At the time, I though that's how it would feel to be "in love." But now I know, that it is takes more of a resemblance to the feeling of missing you, my andere halb, but a more prolonged version, like, if the solar system exploded in 12 days.
So, my point here is, well I'm not entirely sure. I guess you just sort of mean more than the world to me, because if I write a list of things I missed in china:
my saxamaphone(s)
phonie
ipod
facebook
cereal
REAL bread (without excess sugar)
real milk, that didn't taste like gruel
baked beans
vegemite
Boost
WAFFLES
my dogs
Max Brenner
movies in english
not being constantly stared at
oporto chips
COFFEE
my bed
shower

if I think about how much I miss my friends, I could slot some of them in to this list, with most toward the top. But I missed you more than all of the missage of each thing put together is, times-d by infinity, plus 7.

So, enough of seedy mcseedatron marebear,
I have to tell you, I HAVE THE BEST PRESENT YOU WILL EVER RECIEVE, ever. [well maybe not..]
waiting in my bedroom, so call me to get it, yus?
and I have your clothes which you left her 3 weeks ago.
and I have a hug, waiting to embrace my sweet sweet moopoo.

I'm not sure what else to say, because I will ramble for months about the insane events of china, like seeing a small girl take her pants of and pee on the floor while waiting in a 2 and a half hour que which we were also standing in, and walking casually past a cage stuffed to the brim with chickens/pidgeons, and being stared at and photographed by random chinese people as if we were celebrities, and taking a dump in a squat toilet.

That is all, so until I see you next, here is my heart, handle it with care, and as it floats towards you I will say "be still my heart." Because that's a pretty lame injoke of ours, and GET IN MY BELLY.
<3 forever yours,
mary winifred osborn