i always said that winter
was our season
that the chill in the air
turned you warm to me

this is true

and yet

it's march

it was 70 the other day

and you're still here
(kind of)
(writing this down makes me feel like i'm ensuring your disappearance)
(we'll see)

not me
still don't really know

trying to soften the inevitable blow
(not really trying)
(too busy enjoying this)
(trying hard to not look forwards or back)

but there you are
and i am here
and sometimes
i open my eyes
wipe the sleep from my lids
and find
there you are
in bed
next to me

and i know it's stupid
to let myself
melt into your embrace
feel safe
exhale the breath i've (apparently) been holding

but
i can't help it
don't really want to
i'll try to prepare for the pain

but,
oh,
it will have been worth it

too busy
trying to save myself

stop
trying to pull me under
i'm trying
so hard
to stay
afloat

i don't know
where to leave you
or how
or if it's even possible

or should i try again?
rake myself against the coals
to try to win your forgiveness
for something
i'm not even sure i did

probably?
i don't know.
this is
endless
exhausting
emotionally draining

sometimes
it seems like to much
to even put up with

i love new york
and you
(i think)

i like to get out of the city
sometimes
it feels like escaping

silly,
i know

since you're never around
and
we've not done much here
(in a city of hundreds of zipcodes
our moments were contained to a few)

but still

new york will never be mine
and it'll always be yours

you're tied together in my mind
(there's no escaping that)

and massachusetts
might be my home
maybe not anymore

i know nowhere to call my own
(even the apartments are temporary)

but i had thought
i'd carved a spot in your arms
nestled agains your chest
that from the place in my bed
that i could call home

but i was wrong