A wise man once told me, “Go to the limits of your longing.” I have an impression that I have seldom heeded this advice. Although I am quite certain of its veracity. There is no tomorrow, only a handful of missed opportunities. Next month, I will have graduated. I wish that I had danced in the rain, soaked to the bone. When we lock eyes, do you see weakness or sincerity? I hear that a storm is coming in. Has the ship already sailed? Deep inside, I am made of the bubble gum between your toes. The kind that stretches a mile before it snaps. Have I mentioned that I am only human? Would you prefer that I disappear? Quietly, furtively, silently gone. It’s an irrational thought, perhaps because I don’t believe you. Why am I pushing out all the ones who let me in? Don’t you care that you’re living a lie? I am thinking of sunsets and Chester’s fries on a Tuesday night. Sometimes words can’t express the limits of my longing.