Will I ever learn, of course I would. I managed to become what I couldn’t have — somewhat, different in a way. You get the jist don’t you? Nevertheless, I haven’t even given a single context clue. New lives; I tried to see the world in its headlights. It’s kind of common to see letters that have been done so often in our days of age, but will this hold me in its cage? I doubt that, highly doubt that. Willing even under a time constraint, it leaves me in disarray. Maybe then my room will be set on fire, ashes will maybe turn to dust. Maybe then the wood will burn cinder, maybe it’ll char and use it for writing. Nothing, maybe everything? On the surface or with paper — or with the textile buttons on this keyboard feature. Shall I create both reality and fiction, where should I draw the line — how should I do it?
AI (Artificial Intelligence) will eventually take away these hands that will write days on end, it will be efficient — but will it be me. You may be the last person that I will speak to, maybe the only person I have ever spoken to. Truly, I must not hide all that I have in mind. Something new, with you — sometimes, something can be hesitation. A kind of hesitation that makes me stumble on my words but still get my words across; a kind where I could answer but still be embarrassed about it. I have dust in my lungs too, I haven’t worked myself this hard in a while. It’s the end times for me, but the start for you. Will you ruffle up my hair, spunky with a cinch of rowdy. Will AI take that too, you? Will it make the world easier, with how it could create much more than I can. Will my imagination be second hand — second best? Well, all I’ve had in my life comes with that. I know that I learned something new, but this can’t beat you. This is a new way I could Love, a new way I could make something new for you. But I know picking me is hard, because nobody wants a person who annoys and annoys you without a second thought. Maybe that’s why I’m always second, maybe that’s why my favourite number is 3. Maybe I could be an option, but maybe not — in the first place. I am the baseline, I am the background. I am what cannot be heard together, but cannot be known without. Something new, maybe something that already was — but now is. I know even my friends would never choose the second best; the second choice. I would realize that my room is filled with letters, but not for me — but for others, for you. I push hard, knowing my vector cannot be that strong. I perked up whenever I could do something — I couldn’t.
Morn, somewhat fine.
Food, maybe sometime.
Lunch, it’s hungry.
Food, to remain stale.
School, society again.
Home, somewhat mine.
I can’t hold anyone close, not that they’d hold me close too. Would I be in another’s new thing too, I know I couldn’t feel what cannot have been known. I have dust in my eyes — may I rub it without scolding me? Will the air replace itself with the temperature I hold in favour of you. Would I promise in a place of goodbye? Would I greet you in a place of uncertainty? This cannot be; how am I certain even in uncertainty. I would be the burning dust upon the walls I said earlier, charred but enable to draw now. New — but a cost of something that was me. I can’t sleep for the life of me, these amalgamations of ideas come back and tell me to keep on. I insist, just one more before bed. To be chosen is to let it come from another person, how else would one know they are. Maybe all the colours that were from me have a scent like an oil painting — then I’d properly keep you away from. my heart. For what is smoke and ashes if not dust.
You aren’t my worst thought,
but I am in that thought of yours.
If I’ll never be first, I’ll make you the first Love that lasts a lifetime. If you think it’s hard; it is hard, but I want you to have such things. They’re auctioning all the things I had before I won against myself, with the contrived of heart being known. How would something work once again, would something new start a new — no, new things are a privilege everyone can do. I could be an oath or an order.
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Don’t take all the things I have literally, for this line, I tell you I Love You Lots. But would I be chosen, or let me in otherwise. If only — I could have it. Cherishing your Love day by day. Before the furnace blows up, Let the words run naturally out of my story in your words. I had hoped that a sudden response would let me light up — as if my ventricles are filled with colourful fireworks.
Will you see the eyes of mine?
Will you hear the heart of mine?
Will you feel the words of mind?
Will you know all my Love?
Stay back right outside, I’ll make something work soon — before they arrive, before my mind gets rewired to do something else; something new. I have not yet turned 30 yet I have made promises that seem impossible to keep, maybe that’s the validity of humanity. Maybe that’s what’s keeping me going for this, to show you I can — to let you know I will, because no AI would make this heart of mine so unlike and uneven. With how I am, with who I am. Maybe then, I’d make myself write again.
Hey! You mustn’t let your guard down, pesky men out there will surely show you their palm. Lest you forget — maybe you’d remember the stain on mine, but be it second best. I will try for my part. Until the death rings true, until tomorrow makes me new. Maybe I could catch my breath, breathe before the ashes make me remember again — growing up, older and older as the days make me be. The sooner the words will anticipate it’s coming. This year, I am the last kid on earth that will compromise the entirety of anything. The cozy feeling of that rainy Sunday — getting lost immersed by a game, maybe then I was chosen first. Maybe now, I could be.
