constructing loses its appeal when destruction is inevitable and it's by someone else's hand. i feel my heart beating in my stomach and fingertips and throat and it matches the ticking of the clock that seems to follow me around everywhere i go. the number of seconds, minutes, and hours spent melting into myself outweighs everything else i've ever done in all of my time wasting away on this planet. there is so much energy building inside of me that i could explode upon contact with anyone i love, and there is nothing that would feel better. i've been waiting in line for so long now. i'm tugging on your sleeve, asking, "are we there yet?"

but the answer is always "no."