remember when we were just egg and sperm?  neither do i, but it seems like that one part of me is still swimming around, searching for the rest of me.

i can’t remember the first thing i saw when i opened my eyes, or the first song my dad played for me on the guitar.  i can’t remember my first tree climbed or my first crush.

but i do remember out hands, intertwined as our palms sweat and your breath made my heart pound a thousand miles per minute as the atoms around us bounced and shot around electrically.

so when you told me things wouldn’t change, a part of me believed you, even though we both knew you were lying. but the thing is, nothing stays the same except in that one, single moment.  everything’s always changing, and even when we try to stop it, pause time, things are changing.

and we get confused. what’s real? life’s so odd, what we see is not what we get.  what is real?  the pulse in the center of your palm, my hair whipping at my face at midnight as i hang my head out of your car, the blueberry gum you chewed.  i know those were real.  moments, fragments-those were real.

i’m not sure what else was.

was it real when you told me about love?

was it real the last time i spoke to you? when you were stone-faced and i was broken, and we were broken?

was it real when you saw those headlights heading towards you?  did your head spin, did your you lose your breath, the one that sent my head spinning?  did you close your eyes?

were you thinking about me?

it’s real that i wonder if you’re thinking about me now, in a white building in a white room, i a white bed with white sheets, hooked up to a white IV with someone holding your pale, white hand, praying for the moment you should someday awaken.