David C. 
you make me 
dream mountains
 and trees and 
lakes with picnic 
baskets and 
flannel, fluffy blankets 
and sunsets and 
sunrises and 
everything that could
possibly tickle 
eyelashes into 
seeing the unbelievable 
but alas, it is so 
surreal that it
becomes a reality in 
which we only meet 
when togetherness is 
a factor. Because 
you and I are two 
portraits painted by 
the same dizzy artist 
who goes by three 
names instead of 
one, the more elaborate 
man painting obscure 
and vague images 
that bleed together 
into the greatest 
love story that will 
ever be migrated through 
ear drums and grey 
matter between future's
curious ears. Living 
life is something 
we've created on mutual
terms, and abstaining 
it is no bother 
because you breath 
life within, breeding 
stimuli inside of my mind 
so powerful it's hard 
to inhale. What's 
meant to be will 
happen they say. 
And I know.