I am still so in love with the person I thought you could be that I forgot to fall in love with who I’ve become without you.
you won’t understand me when I say “my eyes are heavy” but I mean I haven’t slept in 6 days because I keep hearing your car keys crash against the concrete
I finally understood the saying “home is not a place, but a feeling” when we laid in the hotel room for 3 hours counting each other’s heartbeats between arm wrestles and tickle fights. when you held my hands above my head and giggled before kissing my nose because you loved the way I scrunched it when you got close. I traced your tattoo for 20 minutes straight while you hummed along to the only band we’ve ever agreed on. I knew I found my home in you when I tried to sleep and couldn’t find comfort without your erratic breathing beneath my ear. that night I realized your chest is the bed I want to fall into every night and avoid getting out of in the morning, please don’t make me wake up.
when I say “I’ll be fine” what I really mean is I’ll be dead before it’s over and right now it feels like you’re clenching your fist inside my chest and everything’s going cold
tell me about all the time you spent rearranging the furniture afraid of the silence being more comfortable than your duvet
graveyards have started to feel a hell of a lot more like home than this god forsaken house ever could. it’s easier to sit in front of strange graves in beds of grass and weeds than even consider looking at the empty space where your shoes used to block the doorway, where you turned our welcome mat into an ashtray. the comfort I find in headstones from people I’ll never know is nothing compared to how I felt pressed against your chest listening to your own voice boom within your ribcage; shaking the walls with every consonant you let escape your mouth. the overwhelming sound of silence across the grounds is all that I can hear in my hallway now that your laughter isn’t lingering between the wallpaper and drywall. I swear to god I hear wilting pedals from forgotten bouquets the second my ear touches my damn pillow every night, I miss your snoring. I’ve found sick comfort in the way the grass is welcoming and forgiving, the way it happily took every poem I wrote about you and decayed them into the earth beneath it. I’ve left every trace of you I had at that fucking graveyard but I still can’t bear to wash my sheets. I’m as good as dead to you and maybe that’s why I’ve found a home 6 feet under every word I’ve bled out in your name rather than in this house and body you abandoned.
If I ever get the chance to love you forever I promise you I will do it to my greatest capacity. I promise to listen to you when you get so invested in conversation you ramble for hours. I promise to accept you when you’re being stubborn, and fight you when you’re wrong. I promise to learn how to make your favourite meals from your mother, I know her cooking will always be your favourite. I promise to find every freckle on your body. I will kiss every single one. I promise to always say see you later rather than goodbye. I promise to protect you from heartache to the best of my ability. Actually, I promise to help you through heartache when it comes our way. You’ll never be alone. I promise to kiss you when you first wake up even though we both know you get smelly. I promise to be your biggest fan and greatest supporter. I promise to scratch your back and pop your back pimples. I promise to watch your favourite television show even if I could honestly care less. I really don’t care about zombies. I promise to never let us become your parents. I promise to never let you be like your father. I promise to never let you be like my father. I promise to be the best mother if you let me. I promise to tuck you in when you’re drunk and give you water and Advil when you’re hungover. I promise to be your home. I promise to make our house as home-y as possible. I promise to race you up the stairs. I promise to keep myself positive. I promise to let you pick me up when it feels like I can’t do it myself. I promise to laugh at your baby photos with your sister and to talk to your father about his hobbies. I promise to make fun of you for being a mama’s boy. I promise to love you for it, too. I promise to love you with every bone and muscle in my body. I promise to love you more than I did the day before. I promise to love you and love you and love you and lo
you should never love someone who can’t love you. you’ll end up with 11 empty beer bottles and smashed glass on the floor when you realize every single word you’ve ever said has meant nothing to them. when you realize everyone knows every single breath they’ve ever taken has meant the fucking world to you, you’ll remember smashing the 12th beer bottle on the ground after you called them and left a voicemail; you begged for 5 good reasons why you’re not enough. you’ll be sitting on your bathroom floor god damn near killing yourself, when they call back and make you drop that glass shard faster than the bullet you imagined running through your temple left that barrel. you’ll hear their voice and convince yourself that it sounds like a love song but we all know there’s nothing but pity passing those lips. that’s when they’ll say those 4 words that you’ve been telling yourself since the day you realized you’d be as good as dead if you couldn’t tell them you loved them. if you couldn’t scream, or kiss, or trace ‘I love you’ into their skin there was no point in breathing. but they tell you “I can’t love you” and you feel your bones break beneath you, you feel every single cell shiver and quiver within your flesh. like a fist smashing a cheek bone you’re spun around and knocked down with no chance to retaliate. you’ll hear their even breathing on the other end of the line while you’re gasping for whatever air is left in the room. you should never love someone who can’t love you.
I swore by the way you slept with your face flat in the pillow if you were high enough and the way you never leave the table without saying thank you. I swore by the way you never treated a woman less than you would your little cousin and the way you’ve always worked hard to get what you wanted. I swore by the way you sang at the top of your lungs no matter who was looking and the way your scent could be found in every corner of my bedroom on Sunday morning. I swore by the way you took away my cigarettes and gave me your hand instead and the way you promised you’d never judge me no matter what I did because you loved me anyways. I swore by the way I fucking loved you more than I loved myself and the way I thought you would catch me when I fell. It turns out I fell in love with someone that I thought was an angel but you turned out to be Lucifer all along.
what am I supposed to do when it’s 1am and I can’t shake the thought of you leaving me in the middle of the dance floor with nothing but a tear stained face and bloody knuckles? when the first thing that comes to mind when I hear your name is the day you told me I could never be what you needed, because what you needed was space but we all know I can’t keep my hands off of you. what am I supposed to do at 3am when I can’t sleep because all I can fucking hear is you shutting the door behind you while I’m crying on the other side, begging you to let me be something, anything, to you? when I’m sprawled out on the bathroom floor with all the god damn poems I’ve written for you coating the cold, bloodstained tile. what am I supposed to do at 5am when I’m screaming your name outside your house, promising to be better for you and you turn out the lights and crawl into bed? when I walk into a church and fall to my knees begging God to tell me how I managed to lose you in an empty room, and why I thought I could make a home out of a heart that was incapable of loving something so broken and frayed? what am I supposed to do when I realize I’ll never stop fucking loving you no matter how many times you try to drown me?
we're all disguised souls 