Earth is a weird place.

We exist because of the right measure of the sun’s distance.

We’re just a bunch of organisms with little squares of roofs to protect the things we deem important,

and there's so much water here we don’t know what occupies like ninety nine percent of it or some statistic like that.

I don’t think I know what is going on in seventy five percent of my brain .

I’m usually about fifteen percent surface thoughts and observations and ten percent the curve of a certain boy’s jawbone and the pools of his shoulder blades.

He is a weird place.

I can fit my arms around him and feel like i am falling so slow

like a feather from the top of City Hall,

hitting concrete eventually and smashing all of my bones

while he holds my soul in his stomach as if he’s a whale and I’m Geppetto trying to carve a puppet out of earth

but my nose grows and grows, poking his ribcage and setting tensions so sour and so strong,

we can play them like a guitar and strum the ocean currents out of his bellybutton.

The sun is supposed explode in four billion years, but

what if we were at that point right now

with all of earth accepting death on the corner of every tomorrow.

I suppose we could shout and race around and steal things from Walmart and cry into our mothers' shoulders and forget to do our homework on purpose,

but I would really just love to sit with my ankles frozen in the cold waters of Maine saying,

"How weird this earth has been. Home to billions people and waters we never discovered the depths of."

I want to ask you to dance with me, ok?

Just you and I on the edge of existence with your face in my hands, tracing your jaw with my lips, our hips swaying and

with ninety nine percent of my brain focused on every atom of your body

and one percent on the soles of my feet.

I think I would be alright, knowing that is exactly what anyone that ever on walked our little, weird planet

could have ever really asked for.