it’s not okay to be not okay. no. i won’t let you not be okay. i want you to be okay, better than okay. because when you’re not okay, you’re not you, and i need you.

it’s not okay to not be okay. i can barely think, barely breathe, because i need you to be okay. and i need you to understand that. because if you’re not okay, then nothing is, really.

you could be happy, you whisper in my ear, as if i need to be okay too. but it’s okay for me not to be okay, because you come first. you come first, and last, and fifth, and everything in between.

i need for you to be okay so badly, that i don’t know how to do anything anymore. i feel like a summary, the details glossed over, like a scene in a film, where they play the music loud, but not the sound of the pen on the paper.

the pads of your fingers are callused and covered in ink, but when they brush over my nose, my eyelids, i don’t care that your middle finger is scored with paper cuts, that your hands are cold; your hands belong to you, and you to me, and i to you. but i still need you to be okay.

sometimes, when i look at you, i can’t. i just can’t. can’t look at you, because it hurts. the thoughts come too fast, and my gut twists, the back of my eyes burn with tears. your hurt, it’s too much. maybe i love you too much. your silver eyes, your thin fingers. you. but not really you, because you’re not okay.

loving you when you’re not okay is different than loving you when you’re happy. when you were happy. when you were, you would smile, and i would smile. i could explode. my face wasn’t big enough for my smile, my mind not big enough for my thoughts. i wanted to do nothing more than hold onto you. but, even through my grip, you slipped. and you turned into now, and i had to learn to love you all over again.

my eyes can’t hold my tears, and i can’t hold my thoughts. you’re angry, i can tell; you keep muttering, it’s okay, we’re okay, but i now that you’re not, and therefore we’re not. when you catch me looking at you, i smile. because you have to be okay.

there’s a spot of ink on your nose right now, from when you absentmindedly rubbed it. my toes are curled around part of the stool, and my fingers around a cup of tea. it’s quiet. the type of quiet where i’m thinking too much, and i just can’t deal with it anymore.

my late night scribbles have turned into times of ripped papers and bleeding pens, my late night ink, pressed against your late noon ink. nightmares and daydreams, all rolled in one.

i still need you to be okay.