Don't Watch Me Dancing

'She'd rather be scarred than be scarred with love.'

Imagine us.

Imagine us in the air, floating towards the stars. Imagine us laughing as we glide past comets, planets, black holes wanting to suck us into an eternal doom. Imagine us, blazing by the sun. Imagine us gazing down at Earth. The Pacific Ocean is the size of your thumb, South America hides behind my index finger. We spin in a circle and I'm blinded. Your lips catch mine and I'm no longer focused on where we came from, but where we're going.

Imagine us.

Imagine us in your hunk of junk car. Imagine us laughing as we pass by the mountains in the middle of nowhere. Imagine you, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel to your favorite song. Imagine me, reading you passages from Catcher in the Rye and The Great Gatsby. Imagine us, arguing over directions, growing frustrated, rolling our eyes, scoffing at one another. Imagine us, stealing kisses as we pass over a border, finding love in two places at once.

Imagine you.

Imagine you in your stupid beanie and your one of many plaid shirts. Imagine you, voicing off the teachings of many ancient Greek philosophers. Imagine you, doodling in your small notebook, a cigarette hanging from your lips as your brow furrows in concentration. Imagine you telling me, 'It's not about a forever or a promise or a future. It's about now. It's about what will become a memory. It's about us.' Imagine you kissing me.

Imagine me.

Imagine me in your favorite dress. Imagine me applying that cherry red lipstick. Imagine me speaking feverishly about the stars, claiming them to be just retired light. Imagine me speaking of the moon and how envious it is of the sun. Imagine me, in my favorite lace underwear, feet against the coffee table as I scribble in my notebook, thoughts I could never share with you. Imagine me telling you, 'I just want to feel something. There's a constant numbness and it's more tiring than anything else. I just want to feel. Help me feel.'

Imagine us.

Or don't.