idea of you

I'm creeping up into my head, the gooey substance of my brain feels like there might be something more concrete to cling onto, but the goo keeps running through my fingers, and I'm losing any hope of guidance.

If the soft memories there are you and there is me, we are distant, but maybe for once we can think the same things. If I were stuck in my goo, the idea of you could help me build something more concrete to cling to.

I've clung to the environment of love so much, I think I know how to love, but how long can I be in love for? We all love shortly, quickly, and then we break into pieces to only throw them away without thinking that maybe they could be used over and over again, only this time with gentle caution, because we wouldn't want ourselves to break so quickly.

To be in love, to be heard, to be forgotten, to be mistaken for a love, maybe after all this time I'm just meant to be in my goo. My gooey substance inside and of my brain. That's what it feels like. Just goo and mush because I don't know what to make sense of love. I think I know it, I think I've felt it, but I've not loved for long. It seems to slip out of my fingers.