somewhere between last night and this morning, you found yourself in your own story. you’re so often trying to tuck yourself into people’s pockets, chasing boys as a metaphor for chasing love, but then the metaphor gets all mixed up. you don’t call back the boys who leave you voicemails, and you run after the ones who barely connect your face to a name. you gather yourself neatly for these boys the same way your pet hamster piles his food. today, you will stop seeing the world as poems and instead see everything for the way it is. the closest you can come to reality is love, and you don’t know how this makes sense, but it does. love is what clears you, moments of connection drag you out of your head. you want to stay in these moments of connection, stay in your best friend’s bed. sneak downstairs for a cup of milk and skitter back upstairs before she wakes up. you want to have belly-aching laughter for breakfast, make prank calls by lunch, and walk around the town by night. you want to, for a moment, know you are not living in your head. you want to know your life is worth something, that you are worth something, so you transformed yourself in the simplest way possible, you turned yourself into a poem.