Am I working hard enough?

Do I want it bad enough?

Take the office ten-to-six, a side hustle. Sell everything that fits in a box. Set a budget, a timeline, an impossible task.

I am a machine that runs on love. 

Let me pass in your arms, buried in the crux of your shoulder. Tomorrow is a day, then a week, then a month, so won’t you stay a little longer?

I dread the morning. Give me just one last moment, before I pull on my shirt, before my belt passes through the last loop. Your gloss on my cheek, sweat on my collar, I take as souvenirs.

If I give you my all, is it enough?

I am your dog-eared manifesto.

Run your fingers through letters signed but never delivered. Sit beside me and I’ll read with you all the things I cannot say. 

When it rains I think of you.