You were always the last bus home
As though
If I didn’t catch you I’d be stuck waiting for a lift I’m not sure would come
I missed you often.
Always went to the wrong station
I read your numbers wrong
You were vivid, neon flashing
But I wasn’t wearing my glasses
I couldn’t see you properly
I thought I deserved the long walks home
As if chalky hills and borrowed books torn up into pieces were the only things I could hold onto
I always managed to lose my return ticket
Some days I did it in the hope that you would let me on for free
Let me in
Do not close the doors automatically
As if I am not worth the wait
I am worth the wait
Don’t drive away from me again
I am not begging
I am not praying
I am asking you to come back for me
Reverse to a time when we discussed frame sizes and half flamed dreams under fairy lights
Come back to a time when you thought I was something special
I met you in gold and black shadows
Like we were sweeping statements of colour
Thrown together
Into a palette
Paint with me
Do not separate me like ink and oil
Do not separate yourself anymore
We are not cheap materials
We are quality
Treat us like it
Treat us softly
Take my hand and follow me across the canvas because honestly, it’s all I am good at doing
Making a rough pattern of a future I was never sure I’d have
I can find the destination but I need the petrol of your spirit
I need your headlights, your windows into things I don’t understand, your compass into things I am not brave enough to dive into
Guide me
And once you have finished
Please. Take me home.

Loving you is like an ice,
It's cold,hard,
and limpid.
I can see the real you,
But soon it melts.

Loving you is like a flower,
It blooms when it's autumn,
Sunlight penetrates the petals,
But soon it wilts.

Loving you is like a tissue,
it erases the tears,
brings the laughter,
But soon it torn,
drowned by the burden of love.

Loving you is like a book,
Those beautiful verses
are you.
But soon it ends with
a full stop.

Loving you is like a music,
rhythm rhymes.
the only thing I want to hear,
But soon the rhymes scatter.

The only thing I know
about loving you is,
Your smile is dangerous,
that I was stupid to fall
into them.


a.b

sleep
just always
seemed further than
the pen and so
I learned to dream between
the lines of a bright white
page, in a darkened room
at quarter to four in the morning