You are the letters that I write all unsent, all kept inside my drawer yet I am wishing that one day you could read them without me having to let you
You are the stars I put in the backpack of my mind when I have full grasp of attention that I am approaching a long, cold journey
You are the name scribbled in the top corners of my notebook
You are the feeling I get after a long drive and I can stretch and reach out, far in hopes to touch you somewhere in the sky
You are the unzipping of a formal dress in an old hotel room
You are the place I would like to call home and never need a vacation from, a place better than anywhere else, a place of safety and passion, a place of rest for my weary soul
You are the puzzle I can never solve, the Rubik's cube stored away in a junk drawer, the books I never got around to finishing, the poems I left as drafts
You are the unwound clock that confuses visitors, they are not used to adding two hours and three minutes because I never bothered to change it
You are the amazing opening to a really bad movie
You are the reason some people put too much sugar in their coffee the morning after kissing you because you leave such a bitter taste in their mouth
You are the unraveling of a cigarette exhale that will end up killing you
You are the best thing that I decided I didn’t actually need
You are out of my mind, you are burned letters, running out of gas, you are getting lost on the interstate, you are nothing to me anymore and you were once everything
You are not who you used to me and neither am I and perhaps you should walk one way and I, the other