the simple sad color of rusted copper returned me here, although i thought i had forgotten how human i am. i watched us crumble from under my blankets. simply, we were, in the slowest ways, within the pale green light of each other. connecting comfortably in our sadness and beauty, i tried to care for you and i couldn't. you are not me. your tired green eyes were more sincere than any breath or syllable you expelled. we set the gps for the west coast and left it that way days after rationalizing that we wouldn't have the money for the trip and the drugs. everywhere we went her British accent, telling us we were off track. the apartment was perpetually light. so uncharacteristic of me. in delusions everything would be so dark and you'd be caught within yourself and i'd want to know you, want to know you more than anything, but i'd continue on invariably distant and mysterious myself. i thought; maybe i'd melt into you; you weren't who i wanted you to be.. dancing obits of secrets through the kitchen, i wasn't listening anymore. i thought; i'd often rather silence than forced conversation, but i'd always rather sex than language. away from connection at all i seem to have built a home for myself of warm water and negative space.