It all starts the same.
They want you to smile.
They want you to be truthful.
They want you to be home.
They want you to be careful.
Truthful and careful can't be the same thing.
Here are build-ups of fevers and weightloss.
Everytime I drive along the dotted lines I remind myself I’m not free to swerve or dive into the middle of the lane.
The wind in my hair is nearly a teasing tickle of what it’s like to smile.
The kind that lasts forever.
And after several lines pass by, I constantly remind myself that the world is in a hurry.
People rushing to get out of and over things.
There’s no time for anyone to appreciate anything.
People rushing to be happy.
People rushing to be sad.
It’s all a miscommunication.
You see, the world was never created for us.
Some hours I wonder what your story is.
The words you tell yourself, walking on the path you created to hate me.
I checked my trunk and every envelope for some sort of evidence.
Something that warned me that you had been tossing and turning at night.
And the scattered thoughts on the back of your letter glued it all shut
and the tallies I made to celebrate our accomplishments seem off.
You never stuck around long enough to see
the tossing and turning that changed me.
But I see you now as I wish I would have then
and your eyes aren’t blue anymore
instead they’re a dark shade
And I hope to God one day you find the water that will replenish the colour inside your soul.
Revive your eyes.
And from traveling, you also see what it’s like to have people constantly leave.
And when you travel far you learn things
strangers are always going to love you
and the smell of alcohol on someone’s breath can help you fall asleep
that sweating together with a cool breeze is comfortable
and that sometimes people forget to take off their socks
you’ll learn that you’re gorgeous
and a good person
and when the shirt ends up in the freezer
or vomit hits the toilet seat, you know you’re in love.
because sometimes going outside can make you realize
you aren’t you at all.
The chatter of the TV late at night. The ringing of your ears. The silence of getting yourself up. The mock of your soundless phone. The screaming of your palms despite the whole room talking around you.
I know it all too well.
The reach at four in the morning to pull me closer despite the heat inside the sheets. The call three minutes after you left to let me know you didn’t want to leave. Tracing back our steps just so I could jump the bump in the road. The smile on your face before I jumped into the water. The words that could easily, unlike anyone else, change my state of mind. The talks of summer nights and the idea that I held onto this sweatshirt for the nights we’d spend together. The long car trips with and for you. The inconsistent yet constant good night texts to wake up to. The cycle of “maybe.” Sleeping while you preoccupied yourself next to me (or under me.) The anger you felt when you couldn’t fix something, but eventually asking if you could lay with me which automatically fixed any issue. Having our own place to eat. Having our own street. Trying to find our own song but never finding something quite right. Seeing words so carefully thought out in your journal and knowing you thought about me 200 miles away. The refusal to let me pay when I wanted to. The arm that always scooped my waist while we were walking (although I noticed this one two days too late.) Being able to comfortably act-out the “What is that?” joke. The ragged edges of your palm. Being proud of you about numerous things (if you let me.) The good vibes from your parents and family. The call when I thought I was dying. Watching you sleep. The softness of your eyebrows. The idea that you were my peanut butter and I was your jelly. Rereading your letters over and over while you were gone. Your excitement to come home. The stomach sickness I continue to get. Cracking up over us clipping our nails together. The only time you said, “I can picture us doing this when we’re old,” sitting on your steps. Feeling alive and at home, always.
It’s all simple, cookie-cutter things.
But the memories along with them were too complex for us.
And I guess that’s exactly what I miss, you.
I don't mean to be so serious.
| ||Posted 7/10/2012 7:09 PM - 248 Views - 4 eProps - 2 comments|
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