There is no distinction between the mind and the soul. The mind is the soul.

He sits in bed. Leaning on his headrest, his mind wanders the contours of her face, her image beating numbly, repeatedly.. annoyingly.. quicker than his heartbeat. Her features fade in and out, in and out, while he sits and contemplates just what the hell is going on between both of them. His lips mimic another part of his mind, miming the words over and over in succession with her looks. She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not.. No, no, her lips say, I do love you, know that, but not the same, not the same. His heart stumbles over a pulse, tripping over the thought of her words. Never, never. In succession, they overlap against her and the childish whispers outlined by his motored jaw in an unending circle. The words overwhelm him, overwhelm him and he’s left to hide himself from the contraption - the machine of his mind’s own creation - by sifting through the memories that tie them together by the seams. She flashes into view, her hair a mesh netting protecting her face from his as she digs her head deeper into the pillow. He gawks at her, inches away, just inches, and all he can do is look at their intimacy, unbroken by the words that drip and sputter from their mouths. He longs to kiss her, longs to devour her love and in turn be devoured by the passion he’s held on for what has seemed like an eternity, never ending, forever. He can’t, he knows, her words glaring at his intentions boring a hole of guilt he can never cover. It’s awkward if we do. It grips him and holds him and all he can do is lie there watching the face that he’s willing to stare hours at, wake up to, completely adore, sear into his mind; the words of a joke escaping from his skull which he cannot recapture, which he cannot undo because the moment is over and he’s left to take up his post, her laugh intermixing with his. She fades and scrolls of conversations roll through the simple, wrinkled, crevasses of his brain, each and every word sticking into him like a bullet that sizzles and melts into his soul. Her love. He feels it warming him, warming him like a distant sun that freezes when every single phrase of most likely not, I may never, we may never be together, together, together as friends, that’s what we are friends, all we are - friends, crawls through the surface turning fire into steam, the hoarfrost edging to engulf his only source of light. Click. He switches, the room goes dark, a void, a vacuum that sucks away all the words that they’ve shared together, lived together. And he’s stuck, the emptiness of her so apparent that the black of the room in his head becomes a nightmare that he can only run away from. Click. She flashes into view, her smile, he caused, so beautiful, so lovely, so sweet and so caring, so amazing, ravishing, astounding, serene, and mocking, taunting, over and over he’s left to stare at the face that he can’t grasp. He can’t have her. I can’t have her. The words embedded into him, nails into his coffin. He’s reminded, reminded of her care and understanding, her sweet words for him and only him. He’s submersed and he’s left to glare at the hypothetical what if, what if, if only, if we do, if we will, if we are, what if's that continuously haunt him while he makes it clear to himself that never is always next to forever - and all she is is a lost cause, and all he is is an idiot. She loves me? He sits in his bed. She loves me, not. Leaning on his headrest, his mind wanders the contours of her face - She loves me? - knowing, knowing that she, to him is utter perfection, imperfect to the world but perfect, spotless just to him. She loves me, not. Her flaws, what about them? A mystery is what they are, because he loves them, utterly and completely lost in adoration for every speck of dust on the diamond of her. She is a vinyl record, the static and distortion blended in the music is what he longs for. She loves me. No, no her lips say. She loves me, not. He lies in the dark. She loves me. She lies in his mind. She loves me, not. He whispers to no one. I love her. They lie together. Both, intertwined in each others’ thoughts while they ebb away.. drift away.. fade away into dreams forever lost.

We Lay In Bed Together, Talking

Sweet love flowing from our minds, intertwined, never stopping the slow breathing, and the beating of our hearts going bump, thump -repeating..

[Laughter] Am I going crazy? know, I think the human psyche’s so fragile a lot of times. Can you really trust your mind? ..can you really trust your mind?
Vent On Me

Spew the contents of your mind. I’ll be the wall. Start shooting bullets.