True North
I saw you with wings stretched, emerging from a suburban cocoon
with pride in your breath. I recall the times when we were closer than the spaces between atoms
closer than any analogy of distance
and I saw my future through telescopes with your eye at the other end.
All I needed, rather wanted selfishly
was to be asphyxiated by your affection
was to worship you like there was no other deity in existence.
I wanted to be your true north, your cliched yet perfect human being out of the millions you could have chose.
I saw you moving onward
a landscape of riverbeds stood before you
and any treasure hasn’t been truly hunted until caught between your cross-hairs
but hold on
why does this page sound so fabricated,
like a fusion of hallmark wisdom and trite hyperbole?
Did I forget how to do the page justice
or is there even such a thing?
Theoretically I could keep writing my thoughts until these hands grow arthritic
and I still couldn’t type out every feeling you made burst between my temples.
Definitions quantify this attraction as “Hormones and Neurotransmitters”