I am indigo. Shades of violet and December, treat me to a bite of farewell kisses melting on my tongue. These, they melt, they melt away and I fall with them, into nothing and this is now a place where I am not. This green room in this blue house next to a white house (graying, aging faster than ever before) on a street named after a learning institution in a town that is almost a city named after a place across an ocean in a new state in an empty country is the place that I am leaving behind. Am I leaning on purpose? I don’t know, am I letting myself go? Probably. I can feel gardens and jungles and oceans blooming inside of me, and I know that if I want to let them grow, I have to leave here, peddle through the pollen heavy night air on my bicycle, bicycle, cycle built for two. Escape to the brighter horizon, a place populated only by dreams and some small mysteries of the now. My dream destination is your heart. A thing that beats at a mostly steady pace and leaves itself open for me, a thing that holds your dearest closest dreams and hopes and fears and that I want to curl up in and sleep. I want to sleep against the soft warm flesh of your heart, where I know I can be safe and with you and alone all at the same time. Where it’s stories and love and i don’t have to feel ugly and I don’t have to hate me. I want to live in your heart. With you, and alone.