Attempting Sparks

what or who makes love real what or who makes real love

He’s drawing my arm now,

he’s nearly finished.

He promises he’ll love me

even if I’m not real.

He promises his love will create me real.

I believe him.

 

I’m not sure how I got here,

I’m pretty sure one day I just kind

of showed up in his kitchen

and I’m wearing a red and white apron

and I’m making him breakfast

and I love him.

Isn’t that how we all get there?

I inquired if he could make my hair longer,

but he insisted the shorter style suited his fancy.

It’s quite alright with me,

although I feel somewhat burned inside-

but I wonder as to how,

seeing as he hasn’t yet drawn me a heart.

He is my boyfriend,

isn’t that funny how he forgot?

I really don’t get why he had to go around

asking people if they could see me.

He can see me,

I kiss him on the cheek.

Silly.

 

It seems as though I’ve been staring

at this wall for hours.

I believe I can easily name each crevice

and crack.

But only he can tell you mine.

I love him and I honestly

can’t imagine life without him.

We like all of the same things,

funny how that worked out.

He loves me too.

For heaven’s sakes,

he’s redoing my shoulder again.

Can’t have it too broad or it won’t fit the dress

he’s drawn me.

He assures me it will prove his love for me.

 

I started taking painting classes

twice a week

sleeping at my apartment

but now I cry if I’m not holding his hand.

Love has gotten a bit strange

I think I’m becoming the me of him.

 

At long last!

He has completed me

and we stand eye to eye.

We embrace

He smiles warmly

but… I can’t feel him.

Up is down

I have no motivation

and want to do everything

and now I speak French.

What is happening

who am I?

He appears troubled

because I am crying,

yet I shed not a tear.

He embraces me once more

because he believes I’m crying at its end,

but I am crying at its beginning,

because I cannot

because he must draw my tears

because when he’s truly completed me

I will cease to exist.

I am furious

it can’t go on

I packed to leave.

He takes out his typewriter

it begins.

I’m crawling on the ground

a prowling tiger

jumping back and forth

laughing at the top of my lungs

screaming in hatred I LOVE YOU

He writes me

He controls me.

My heart breaks

I know I’m not real

because he loves me

and I love him.