On Separation

It begins as it continues as it ends

It’s a street sign that looks different. A shop sign that’s changed. The renovations have been redone. There’s construction lining blocks upon blocks that warble your senses of direction. 

And you come back, and you come back, and you come back 

And suddenly, it’s not your city anymore 

But you don’t think on this, as you arrive. You don’t think of what has changed and what is no longer there
Because you’re being questioned in a customs line
You’re being told these things flat out.


And if this isn’t your home, where do you go?
Because there isn’t here. It never will be, it doesn’t want to be. You don’t want it to be.

And maybe it’s not so much that you’re missing your home, as that home no longer exists.
It was a fleeting moment in time you can not go back to


Really, would you want to? To forget everything you have learned, everything you have done, and go back to the person you were yesterday?
Just think of what your bar tab would look like.


And you can long for what is gone, but maybe
You should not dwell on the feeling of your heart split in two
But rather,

Can you extend your heart to somewhere new? Can you love what this has become, and what that is now?

And one day, can you wake up when you arrive where you are going and say
This is now mine, too.

It doesn’t have to be today.

But someday

Maybe.

On The Bad Stuff

I’ve been running into this problem lately, of only remembering those stupid ass moments.

When I fucked up.

When I got too drunk.

When I said something stupid.

When you had to deal with my incompetence and idiocy.

And I don’t want to only remember these moments, because for one, it makes it sound like you’re perfect, and no one is, and two, I want to remember the other moments.

When we lay on your couch doing nothing all day.

When I made your coffee in the morning, and wafted the scent towards your nose to breathe life into you.

When you put your hand on my knee.

When you made me talk about things without a hint of uncomfortability, pushing past my layers of shyness, so you knew exactly how to to pull me to you, hands around my wrists, holding me steady as your tongue made earthquakes travel through my spine.

 

I want to hold on to you as a whole. I want to be able to look you in the eyes, and know that we are on equal ground. I want to know that one day you will crush me into a hug again and I will not dwell on this, that, or the other but only on that moment, on your arms and skin and feel of you around me.

I never expected to feel an intensity with you, and you still don’t know all of these feelings rattling around in my head. Because when we talk it’s about something related to a previous conversation. It’s me sending you a TV show release date. It’s not us talking about the intricate details of our lives, our thoughts, our feelings. It’s not those kinds of conversations anymore.

Maybe it’s just the unsettled-ness of my life right now, but it’s so easy to dwell on the negative, to focus on my faults and my derp moments, that which makes my brain say – well you had fun, but do you really expect them to stick around when you’re such a dumbass?

But I know this isn’t fair, or true. People come in and out or your life for such a variety of reasons. Maybe you’ve got a blog somewhere writing about the depths of my ineptitude, but I don’t think so. (Others on here, maybe. But not you.)

 

You sent me three words the other day, and it helped far more than you know.

 

I miss you, too.