and i suppose

all the days where i was angry, all the days where we weren’t fine,

don’t replay in my mind anymore.

it’s a slow beating heart, waiting for someone,

closing your eyes in the dark, nothing less than what you do every day,

a slow pulling desire you never act on, bounded by strings that you have strung up in sleep,

a slow pulling thought tying up everything loose.

And for the endless river that nobody can see, you’re in it, thigh deep, walking.

i guess you just learn how to swim at some point.

i guess you become your own life buoy.

the slimy algae beneath your paddling feet, you lost your grip,

a long time ago.