Bleeding hearts ache the most. We travel in imaginary subways in the dead of the night when the rest of the world lies down amidst heavy breathing and strange longings. Our hands are designed for deep wounds and tattoos gone wrong. But they’re also made for catching heavenly droplets from the tip of our butter fingers under grey smoke and dark clouds. Hope is a sweet poison and passion, a lustful hunger. To roam aimlessly through narrow streets is a game we play every night for it’s then that I see your smile under the soft streetlights. In a world devoid of beauty, I find reasons to wander past sleeping souls and broken windows for when we walk together inhaling bursts of midnight fog, that’s when we are truly alive. For us, others cease to exist but we couldn’t care less, for all that remains of us, at that moment, is nothing and everything. Our bodies get swallowed by galaxies unknown to the rest of the world. But, They are our empires in the making, they are my entire universe, for if nothing, they’ll still have your smile. And that to me, is hope.