mornings are for the beach: whispered self-conversations and singing in the underpass, the clearest i can hear myself
peeking out under baseball caps and sneaking around town as if i don’t live here anymore, which i guess i don’t
staring too hard at the sky and sometimes-nighttime escapes driving in cars that aren’t mine; going around, going nowhere,
and everywhere: choked by memories in every place we ever went, making this place feel like less of a home and more like a crime scene
i do not know how to stop feeling haunted
there are suitcases at the end of the bed and none of them are mine, the ghost of you is teaching me how to run. and – what, you thought i would stay just to watch you be in love with her? just to live in the knowledge that you no longer want me? you thought i would stay for that?
maybe i am that masochistic, maybe i really did love you. but maybe some people can love boundlessly, without drawing lines, putting up walls. and maybe i can't.