I sat at the table we sat at two years ago
I had the same terrible airport omelette
with the same soapy airport coffee
it feels like I should be sharing this with you
as if I simply forgot to book your flight

it was the first time someone called us correctly
we sat in the right seats,
on a morning brighter than this

it’s all gray
missing luggage on a cross country flight
I sat in the right seat
and felt warm pretending

sometime I walk by spaces
and the air reminds me how you smell
always in the in-between

I can hear you when it whistles
I drink those moments in,
and I am alive again.

the people who lived here are dead.

sometimes the night nudges me awake
and the air makes its way into my ear
all the while, whispering:
“You really changed everything, didn’t you?”

looking through the box you left behind
(y)our memories
bits that made you up
anarchy, literature
five bracelets, mouse ears
i see my face here.

the Christmas gift I wrote you
when I had no money left
but you knew I spent it all
our first holiday

a picture of us in paradise
facing your namesake
two sith and I
looking at you with innocence
honest, earnest love

left behind with your handwriting
"Office and Important Things to Keep"

i like making patterns in the words that i write
when i am planning on sending them your way
i suppose i hope you find comfort in the symmetry
that the pictures i paint are calming
and the sea of ideas i let flood in
are warm waves of "yes, i am sure"
and "it has always been okay."
i want to be a sun-kissed plot of sand
on a day where the air feels cool but doesn't move
a warm fire on a cool night

i want to be the feeling i get when i am drunk
and surrounded by everyone i love
staring at blurry stars in the sky

in a small, 15 minute window
where i tried to craft every word in your image

i reminded you that in front of fireworks,
in front of world wonders,
skyscrapers and the stars--
i find myself looking at you instead

all of my nightmares are becoming half-realities
and i am the only person chasing them
i'm waiting on too many half-answers
on things i can only half-see
i feel only half-me

my eyes adjusted to the dark last night
of the light that fades in, flickering
in the bathroom where i have spent my worst times
i saw disappointment in the mirror again
maybe someday i will learn moderation
and stop desperately trying to reach
the bottoms of cups and plates
maybe i will stop wanting to forget
someday,
maybe i will stop having to trace outlines
in the mirror of what i want to see
changing the shape of my jaw
parting my hair differently