You say everyday that you want to leave. See the world, catch a star, name a canyon, count tunnels. Breathe the air of somewhere else. But there are ceilings everywhere, darling. Pieces you can’t leave behind. Pieces you can’t leave with me. Remember slipping underneath hazy cut-outs of golden sunlight, remember your lips on mine in what was left of an afternoon, remember the things we used to whisper? I can’t stay here either. I want to count stars and believe in constellations again but we are two separate people now. Strangers on opposite sides of a highway, each unwilling to make the braver step. Remember me and ceilings and the Big Dipper when the night sky calls your name.
I miss your writing. You haven't been writing much lately. I understand sometimes the words don't work, but I miss the way you are able to twine them together.
honestly, i miss it too. it hurts, sometimes, that i’m speechless and wordless and story-less. i’ve always heard that tears make great poems. they did for me. i have been happy for a while now. maybe that’s why. i’ll sleep on a couple thoughts i have swirling just behind my tongue, though, and see if i can make myself be something again. for you, for me.
when anyone in my house gets upset it makes my dog sad. she curls up near me, usually, and puts her head on the ground with her ears back and she looks at me with such big eyes. it makes me so sad. sometimes we forget that we affect the people (and animals) around us so much, and we become careless.