This is the touch and go.
The breath before the giveaway.
The feeling of every
ghost dancing from the
pit of your stomach through
the vines of your throat
telling everyone that
you are letting them go.
They won’t want you to leave.
I can promise you this.
But you’ve been burning
without fuel for too long
The sun licked your
cheekbones this morning
and you wanted to know
what it meant to be only light
to be dying star
to be collapsing supernova in
the galaxy of terminal illness.
It is okay to say you
want to give up.
I call it wanting to go home.
I call it being tired of
having calloused hands
desperately fighting time.
Fighting the inevitable.
We are not a rainstorm of lost faith.
We are a baptism of acceptance.
Goodbye can rush out
of your open mouth
whenever you’re ready, darling.
I will cradle an “I love you”
to sail down the riverbed of
whichever afterlife you choose.
This
This is how I will always
find a way to be
next to you.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
This is the touch and go.
The breath before the giveaway.
The feeling of every
ghost dancing from the
pit of your stomach through
the vines of your throat
telling everyone that
you are letting them go.
They won’t want you to leave.
I can promise you this.
But you’ve been burning
without fuel for too long
The sun licked your
cheekbones this morning
and you wanted to know
what it meant to be only light
to be dying star
to be collapsing supernova in
the galaxy of terminal illness.
It is okay to say you
want to give up.
I call it wanting to go home.
I call it being tired of
having calloused hands
desperately fighting time.
Fighting the inevitable.
We are not a rainstorm of lost faith.
We are a baptism of acceptance.
Goodbye can rush out
of your open mouth
whenever you’re ready, darling.
I will cradle an “I love you”
to sail down the riverbed of
whichever afterlife you choose.
This
This is how I will always
find a way to be
next to you.
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