I am a passionate drunk. You are my lullaby, and you taste of smoke and dust. If I can just make it to sleep tonight feeling like this I think I might be fine.

I fall in love, every town I travel to. (This has to stop, you're getting hurt all the time, you're not built to withstand the damage) The road is starting to walk all over me.

If we could just stay in the same place, at the same time, for long enough, we could be the best of friends at the least.

This time I have nothing to say. Finally. And so, I have/am lost.

I would talk to you until my mouth ran dry, not with anything to say, but because I know that sometimes, you simply need my voice. These arms were built to hold you, they will find you in our sleep. I love the way you weigh down the left side of this broken bed. The way gravity pulls us together. A constant, something that cannot be defied. A force.

I have started and ended days with this scene in my eyes. Give me more.

Weight/wait.

My friend has roadmaps in her arms, they tell stories of how she's travelled, and though it's an awful thing to say, sometimes I'm glad for them to be there, because she followed them and found me.

Sometimes it's hard to stay positive. Things fall out of place after you've taken so long to put them together, and then the people who are meant to help you fix it all come along and stumble, kicking them further out of reach, or at least making you more aware of how it's gone wrong.

But it's like unwrapping a Christmas gift you'd forgotten you saw in your parents' cupboard months ago, when you get to the end of your day and stop, breathe, count to ten, and realise at somewhere around eight that, in fact, everything is vaguely ok. Better than it could have been, at least. Certainly better than it would have been before you made the decision to put up a fight from now on.

"...it would have felt like everything was simply alright for once, and for as long as it's been worth remembering, that has been all I could ever want. Imagine that; the best you can hope for, your ultimate ambition, being for things to be just ok. And then imagine that being in view. And then imagine having your eyes struck out."

That's how I felt not too long ago; thats how I occasionally feel even now. But thats not how I want to feel; I wouldn't imagine it's how anyone would. And for all the times that I have had things fall apart, or perhaps because of them, I am becoming better at not getting myself to this place where I am willing to simply settle for narrow escapes, and resting on the edge of the dark. I am becoming unafraid to want something better than just ok, and what's more, I am becoming unafraid to act upon this want. Because I know now that the majority of people will not help me. And because I believe that I deserve something better. I believe we all do and I believe it is a shame, an absolute waste of living, if we don't try and make our surroundings, on whatever scale, transcend tolerable, and become something we can enjoy as both communities and individuals.

What I have just expressed might seem to contradict itself, but it's meant well. I am no longer caught up with hate for the world, and maybe I never really was. Maybe I'm angry, and always have been; angry that we could so easily make so much of ourselves, and that we don't. Desperate for everyone to stop complaining about things they could so easily change, and take their lives into their own hands, and for better or worse, do as much as they can and just marvel at what happens when you get a little perspective, put in a little effort, and start crossing out the reasons to complain.