I don’t know where I’m going
but I want to take you with me.

I will pack you in my suitcase,
next to the pants I’ll never wear,
and pull you out on rainy days
when I am missing home.

I will shower you clean with kisses
and iron away your creases
with my finger tips.
When I tuck you into bed
my body will be your blanket.

And while you sleep,
I will cradle my head against your chest,
a pillow I have never slept upon,

and count the number of heartbeats it takes
to realize that this is all just

wishful thinking.

You are like a sailor
who wants to forget the sea.

   And I am not the shore
   you cling to
   or the lighthouse
   that guided you home;

   I am the boat,
   left docked and
forgotten,
   and the waves
   that call you back
   to the life
   you were born

   to live.

I kind of love you
    when you’re drunk
    and you
    piece together words
    like a child would
    a broken vase;
quickly and clumsily,

like you are afraid of
being caught
by your own thoughts.

Out of habit
I sleep at the edge of the bed,
still unused to the
space you left behind.


(I still wake
                 reaching
for you in the dark;
finding only memories
           of the remnants
           of your
                warmth.)

that we met
there was something in your eyes
that whispered,
"Love me."

;and something in my heart that shouted:
"Yes."

(I wish that you had heard.)

ly

aching
for the sound of
your voice

and the words
that will assure me

I am no longer

alone.