this is the part where you look at me

This is the part where something changes. This is the part where everything ends.

This is the night that the air snaps colder, the blood chilled thinner for the want of a wave. This is the night that I bite at the terminus, disgusted with foregone conclusions and fundamental disagreements, so eager to thrust through the mist of the world.

Except that abruptness is only impossible. Nothing in real-time ever happens that fast.

I can't control what happens, tonight. Tonight is nothing. Tonight's not even a dream.

Tonight is a procession of hours, undancing. Tonight is not so much more free than today.

I'm learning the lesson: start to talk to yourself. Talk to yourself more than you ever talk to others.

Don't run. Don't hide. But be silent, even still. Be solemn. Be simple. Be watching.

Don't watch too long, however, forever. Don't wait until all the good chances are gone.

Actually, it's you who determine what's good. You decide, sum-completely, if and only if you've made it so.

You. Me.

I decide.

Me.

This is the part where you look, but you can't touch, because I'm too hot. Not just hot but burning with the fire, incinerating every inflammation left lingering in my throat.

This is the time when I'm untouchable. This is the time when you're breathless just to see, let alone hear and feel the trajectory of my progress.

You're the pilgrim. I'm the altar. I'm the forbidden, impossible place.

Where I impress myself upon you, implore you to look so directly down the horizon line at the sky-sundered place I'm going. When I rise to your occasion, then turn about and forge my own.

Isn't it heroic? Isn't it romantic?

Isn't it the only remaining possible way to win?

I've got to burn it all, you know. I've got to torch it, mutation in place. I've got to smolder, to rancor, to rumble. I've got to erupt and rip the skin right off your face.

I can't stand your casual gaze listing along and landing upon to go a-judging me, like I'm here for consideration. Just to say hi. Just to take the trash to the curb, and nod meekly into the closet where your mischief goes.

I'm here for something greater than you know, and that's all you know. I won't believe you, because I'm contrarian like that, but in all due course, I will take my intended ten-foot step.

This is the part where you look at me and you realize, oh, obviously, awesomely, it's whatever she wants, whatever she says.

This is the part where you like me. This is the part where you love me. This is the part where I'm never enough, so how could I ever be too much?

Even if it's helpless. Even if it's hopeless. Still, it's kinda charming, y'know?