isn't this
the greatest tragedy of all?
two people finding themselves in
each other's bodies,
only to get lost again.

i just want you to know right now
i’m grateful for the time i’ll spend writing you
because for too long i’ve been sticking glorified memories into the sunlight and naming them love
like it was alright to lose because the world was just teaching me a lesson in resilience every time i fell for someone with nothing but gravity to catch me
like it was all just practice for a hurt much worse than that
like there’s a science to breaking ourselves for the sake of staying sane

we can call our wounds victories so long as we shed a tear or two and didn't drown
and we can stick a bandage to the broken parts and pretend we’ve been having too much fun with the red finger paint but
we both know we outgrew creative solutions long before this
long before we outgrew each other

but from now on we’re done talking about the past like it’s still in front of us
done pretending like we aren’t getting enough of our share of the sun
my dear, we are not the footnotes of our own narratives
so quit letting a shortness of breath steal the stories you’ve been trying to say to the world
you can go tell the thunder its voice can’t even compare to your storytelling
tell the Rockies they’ve got nothing on your cliffhangers
nature’s never had to nurture your wounded imagination
you did that on your own

from now on
we’re gonna be beautiful without an explanation
who said these words ever had to make sense of themselves
who said any of us ever had to do the same
i swear on all the languages i'll never come to understand
these pages are gonna remember us
even when we cannot hold our pens without shaking
the ink's gonna dry and we will too but on everything
i promise something is gonna stay

you tree limb bent out from the others,
you collapsing of the chest as everyone laughs,
you mid-july broken ceiling fan

you beautiful, stand out empty picture frame -
where a family should be.

that earthquake mother,
that tectonic plate father,
you poor, caught-in-the-debris, scar on the head survivor

you valley of flowers,
those volcanic eruption grandparents,
you forgotten beauty

you ash risen lover,
you missing puzzle piece,
you faded photograph

you home,
you paradise,
you safe haven

you backseat confession,
you laying on the tile floor sleep,
you moonlit slow dance

you tender, divine lover,
you unbroken hope

“Dominique, you can forgive yourself now.
I promise you are much more
than who didn’t stay.
Please listen, Dominique, because this is very important:
the hurt is the beginning of all your poetry.
Dominique, you are full of words
that have not formed yet. And when they finally
do, they are going to be so beautiful. I know it.
I know there is such a thing as God,
and I know God would drop the world
just to hear you laugh. I know He’d turn the tides
just to watch the waves give you back to yourself and
I know you know I know
there’s an ocean
sitting inside the both of us. Dominique,
we both know
you cannot truly be lost
if you enjoy the scenery. So take a breath
and look around because Dominique,
there’s poetry in the sky.
It’s in the buildings. The people. The river.
Just know that even on your worst day,
when your eyes play tricks with your heart,
there is a verse inside you so great
that not even you
are you enough to read it.
It’s called Dominique.
It’s called who the hell cares as long as it sounds right.
And it does. It sounds the way you imagine knocking on your mother’s door.
Gently, carefully, saying,
“Mom, I know I’m late. But I’m here.”
And here you are.
All one hundred and seventy-one thousand,
four hundred and seventy-six words in the english language of you,
as well as a few others.
Dominique, you are so here
that you are always home.
And Dominique, it is time to forgive yourself.”

you are more or less like a streetlight
that is always green and never turns red,
and I am more or less like that pedestrian
perpetually waiting at the stop sign at
the opposite side of the intersection.

we are two paths that crossed but never once
knew where we were going.
not home.

you’re always going and I’m always staying.

i am stuck behind you’re green light goings and
all the cars passing by are so blurry
and it's not because they’re going too fast,
but because I am afraid that I'll see you in one of them.

your gentle wave out the window,
your soft smile shrouded by the sun glares.
there's your goodbye.
there's me standing in the rearview.

you always tell me
you can’t wait to leave this rotten place,
that you have no home.

I said we could build our own,
you only smiled and said “don’t you ever want to leave?”
don’t ask me that, you know the answer.

every driveway on earth leads to the same intersection.

you’re always going and I’m always staying.

the night you told me you were leaving you said
there was no other choice that you could see.

i was standing right in front of you.

i can't ask you to choose me.
“this is bigger than you and I.”

you’re always going and I’m always staying.