The Number Twelve Is You.

The most impossible thing for me is holding onto something that no one else can have. Somehow, someone finds a way to pry it from your death grip. Even if it's something impossible to share, they'll steal it.
I'm a strange, strange man with these stranger thoughts in my head that make me crazy. Now that I've found a stranger that will listen to these thoughts, I'm scared she'll disappear. All the crazy inside me will scare her away, but there's nothing I can do about it but hope she's willing to take the crazy from me as if it were a simple kiss on the cheek before bed.
I think of her before I pass out for bed. The first thing that comes across my mind is her name, different every morning. She's described as my better half but the only half of me that she is, is not mine. It's one giant paradox where all I can do is peer over the edge of the dashboard while no one's driving. Observing entirely, letting it all come out however it may, waiting for nothing.
There is this whole limitless space beyond us that truly isn't limitless because limitless in itself is oxymoronic and paradoxical. It is what it is because it isn't anything.