I feel homesick for things I can't go to.

Chapter 1


i still don't say it enough,
and for a long time i stopped telling you the truth because i'm not allowed to be near good people.
but ohmygod i love you so much that your name is overriding my thoughts,
and every time i hear it my body aches because your arms are home and i am desperately homesick.
i forgot that i am allowed more than overgrown gardens and walls with far too many holes;
let's start over and build new homes with blank walls and no hard feelings.
you are not my muse, you are not just words and metaphors, you are not poetry.
you're the traffic light when it turns green, although sometimes i find myself running across the street when it's still flashing red.
you are not just ink on paper, you are every letter, every syllable, every sound that my mouth breathes.
loving you is wanting something that's halfway across the world, buried too far down for me to reach,
and while it's a kind of torture,
it fascinates me in a way i can't deny, and i would not stop, could not stop for anything.
everything that i write seems to come back to you,
and i've cut the endings off of my poetry more times than i could count because they drifted into your name when i was supposed to be loving someone else.
but darling there is only so much time i can afford to spend lying to you and to myself,
and if you really think that you can fix me,
i'm not going to try to stop you,
because there's something in your eyes that makes me wonder if you can;
besides, i'm not ready to let go. of you, or myself.


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