The First Person

i. on the the moon

Found falling to be the hardest.

It's hard to slip into this, sometimes, and it's hard to fit into dresses and skin. And into everything in between. Hard to have words spill from mouths and to tip kisses from someone else's lips. Hard to draw what can't be thought about. Hard to hold what isn't concrete and to watch what isn't being shown. Hard to break what is already in pieces.

Hard to fall when anti-gravity doesn't allow it.

ii. playing with mold

Strange when accidents are a part of destiny... or whatever.

Coincidental meetings and perfect-to-disastrous timing. Laughing and then the room suddenly becomes much brighter. Having a good time and then having a baby right after.

And all that stuff. Accidents. Everyone's had them.

It's just weird when coincidences make sense.

Never wanted this to happen.

iii. brighter suns

I want you to understand something.

Bridal veils and wedding cakes are in the future, and doves, and wedding bands and the gleams that reflection gives flight to, and other things, like me and you, and everything – we're going to want everything and more commas. I promise you we're going to want everything.

We're going to name the stars and we're going to dictate the positions of the galaxies. We're going to collect stardust and assemble planets. We're going to do a lot of things, and the things we create will be the shoes we use to stomp on the earth to leave our footprints.

Comets. We'll have comets. Like dogs. Except celestial.

And dictators – we'll be those, we'll dictate everything, because we know how the universe must work, and we will point pistols to foreheads, swear we turned into everything we never wanted to be, and we will shoot our beliefs and our bullets into the brains of the elder who've seen what's been and the youth who've seen what could've been, and then we'll shoot each other –

My hands will be too used to the gun, and I'll be too familiar with the trigger – and you will make me befriend remorse again at your wake.

You'll always be the first person, because you made everything make sense, and first person was no longer me, or I, or we, or us, or anything that included me – because there was you, and you became my first person.

And you'll always be the first.

iv. confession

(I) go insane sometimes.