This

I am trying to to incise this moment

into my memory,

the way hearts beat so loudly,

make us weep

and pound the table,

the way vitality

will make us fragile.

But we are given new bodies

after our chests 

have been ripped open,

our fingernails

tearing at the edges of our ribcage,

and these bodies

are the renewal of hope

and truth;

we are being made new.

Weakness births buoyancy,

and

apathy gives way to passion.

What will you

do with your resurrection?

2 am walmart

running through

the aisles playing

marco polo calling for each

others names over the

shelves because even when

I dont see

you I cant

help

but hold on.

break me.

trying to find

the value in

simplicity.

with miles of highway

stretched before my eyes

your name is

tattooed on the inside of

my left arm and

the burning in my chest

has not subsided.

the mist lingers,

drifts through the trees,

and the sun is slowly rising

as I make my way further down south

building the miles

between us.

I am trying to forget,

but my arm holds on 

just the same.

It occurs to me that

although I know you the best

out of anyone, even though

you are the deepest part of me, sewn tightly

into my pocket,

that I will never learn you in the ways I wish to.

You are the part of me that I am always

waiting to figure out, the piece

that is always too far inside

for me to grasp firmly enough,

the silent tongue

that keeps me guessing.

If I knew where 

I was going next, then

I would spend my days pining over the details 

of my expectations

instead of finding my answers

in the splattered ink of old textbooks

and in the torn threads

of our dusty pillowcases.

But the truth is that I find comfort

in the unknown.

I find it absolutely exhilarating to wake up and wonder

what the sky will be like today,

and I float from one decision

to the next, as if

it were choosing which soup to eat for lunch;

I am a little bit numb with a touch of apathetic (even when I try not to be).

I am, inevitably, 

the wanderer,

the girl who always leaves,

but never knows how

to say goodbye.

it’s been far too long.

we were listening —

locked in reality, choked by silence. 

lonely nights.

It’s nights like these when I feel as if i’ve been to the moon and back, a weary traveler, having spent the long evening at a baseball game after a day full of salty skin and mermaid hair. It is on nights like these that I drive back over the highway with my family and we laugh together at overly charismatic christians and watch the lights come alive in speckles on either side of Rt 34, and squeeze into Dairy Queen minutes before closing to get one more ounce of sugar spread on our teeth, all the while your name in my mind keeping my attention not fully on those actually in the present.

And it is on nights like these that I cannot get you out of my head - not that I would want to - and I sit here quietly for hours mulling over the details of everything. I wrote it all down last night, to dispel my sudden fear of forgetting, but I have this longing feeling even deeper now, heavier in my chest like the brick has turned to cinder blocks.

I’ve decided not to buy into the storybook love that others seem ever so infatuated by, hearts ripped out when they hear a certain song or remnant of a once loved one. I refuse to let the giddy happiness touch me. But still your name is there, gently tugging at my pocket, your whisper in my ear, your steady hand on my shoulder.

We will not be shaken, we cannot be moved. 

we spend quiet nights

alone at the coffee shop

listening to the consistent chatter

of humans

lives intertwined

sewn

and then torn at the seams.

telephone poles are the only thing

that let my arm 

reach you now

your skin does not long

for a companion as it once did

and I must stay content 

with the pattern

you left

from kisses on my brow. 

life’s too short to not live extraordinarily, embracing things fully and passionately without hesitation; your words float through the air and hit my shoulders leaving freckles, permanent, unmoving, loving; they reside quietly now next to the mosquito bites content to sit on our sweaty skin, layered in the heat against our bodies; I spend my nights watching the sky change from dusty pale blue in the heavy humid heat to a deep navy with a sweep of orange where the sun sat, and finally to the dark blackness that covers us all, our eyes searching above for holes in the blanket; the air walks slowly around over our arms and legs without motivation and we are sitting underneath its weight, waiting for it to run a bit faster, for it to lift, to be freshened with a breeze; let’s pause for a moment and rearrange our quietness, our silence in watching, waiting for a companion to join on our gentle walk; and let’s pick up and scatter, throw our silence to the wind, and listen for the vigor that clutches our soul and urges us to move forward and embrace our possibilities. 

I woke at the sound of sweet words

kisses on my fingers

that broke my thirst for your skin

you are heavy in my lungs

build me a ladder with your bones

I want to

reach

your sky.