I'm getting comfortable with coming home to myself
I can turn right at the stop sign onto my street and I don't miss the times you were waiting there for me
but on Sunday I realized I still have a key to your apartment
and I'm sorry for being the reason you know what losing someone tastes like
there's still two toothbrushes by your sink and I hope we're both coming to terms with the things not meant for us
you deserve more than my hesitations

I'm in the mood to remember you
legs crossed over yours;
I can't see the moon without thinking of the way it looked through your windshield
safety is your locked car in an empty parking lot
and your hands dancing on my shoulder
I trace the lines on my body the way your fingers used to
and dance across the carpet to the songs you used to play
I hope your plans and your future have saved a place for me

I prayed for something softer
I clinged to something simple
but you know me, I'm a hopeless romantic for tragedy
what is love if it doesn't leave me with bruises in the shape of your lips
and longing in the form of closure

There’s a certain safety in lukewarm love
in the thoughts I never speak, you are the first to leave
we lay in bed with only our backs facing each other
is this how it’s supposed to feel?
I’d never admit it but I stopped missing you when you’re gone
maybe it’s time we admit dependency is not the same as intimacy

my heart has been my achilles’ heel more than a time or two
but I can’t help but be grateful that after everything, the world hasn’t been able to harden it
human nature is selfish motives
but empathy and I have become well acquainted
let my tombstone read “she was soft”
let me give love like I’ll never run out
let me be your resting place
and if you need the air in my lungs
or the organs in-between my bones I’ll give you those too
and if all I ever do is make others feel loved, that will be enough for me

I dream of you in shades of green.
Forgetting you is a different kind of growing pain.
The skin I’m in may be different than when you held it, but my bones are the same and they seem to still be aching for you

And while the better part of me is certain you were never meant to be more than a daydream, I can’t bare to tell myself it’s time to stop waiting for you.

Someday, when I’m older, my daydreams won’t be daydreams anymore.
The morning sun will dance across my bare skin in my third floor apartment.
Photos in film line my bedside table and life’s so sweet I hardly reach for my phone.
We dance on wooden floors to Van Morrison’s ‘tupelo honey’ and the sugar in my coffee falls short in comparison to the love we make.