Are you where you're meant to be?
Every choice you've made has built you.
Did the wrong turns pull you from the life that was meant to be yours?
I have wronged — and so have you.
We’ve strayed so far,
we’ve forgotten the path altogether.
And yet —
I’m so glad to be lost in this world
if I’m lost with you.
We sit in meadows that rise above our knees,
and you laugh at me
for tucking my trousers into my socks.
“I’m scared of ticks,” I remind you.
You roll your eyes —
but your smile is the softest thing I know.
I could sit here forever,
in this tall, wild field,
beneath a sky
bluer than I ever imagined.
But even now,
in all this gentle quiet,
something heavy sits behind my ribs.
It doesn’t speak —
it doesn’t need to.
It just is,
and it always has been.
I watch your face tilt toward the sun,
like a flower that trusts spring to come.
And I wonder —
how do you do it?
How do you believe in warmth
when winter still lives in your chest?
You ask me if I’m okay,
and I say yes,
because it would break the moment if I didn’t.
Because you look so happy.
Because this field is beautiful,
and the sky is trying so hard
to love me back.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
To sit beside you,
ticking moments into the earth
like seeds that might one day grow
into something lighter than this.
The sun slips lower,
and everything turns to honey.
You lean back on your elbows,
laugh lines deepening as you squint toward the horizon.
I memorize them like scripture.
I don’t know how long I’ll feel like this —
like I’m walking through syrup,
like I’ve misplaced the parts of myself that used to shine.
But when you brush your hand against mine,
even accidentally,
I feel the tiniest pull back to the surface.
I want to believe that this is real.
That something so soft
can last in a world that feels so sharp.
That you won’t tire of waiting for the better version of me
I keep promising it's just around the bend.
I want to stay.
Not just here, in this meadow —
but here, with you,
in whatever this is
we are quietly building
between silences and eye rolls and tucked-in socks.
If I lose myself again —
if the dark comes fast —
please, just remind me of today.
Remind me that once,
in a field of tall grass,
I felt the light, and I welcomed it in.
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 5:50 PM UTC
Are you where you're meant to be?
Every choice you've made has built you.
Did the wrong turns pull you from the life that was meant to be yours?
I have wronged — and so have you.
We’ve strayed so far,
we’ve forgotten the path altogether.
And yet —
I’m so glad to be lost in this world
if I’m lost with you.
We sit in meadows that rise above our knees,
and you laugh at me
for tucking my trousers into my socks.
“I’m scared of ticks,” I remind you.
You roll your eyes —
but your smile is the softest thing I know.
I could sit here forever,
in this tall, wild field,
beneath a sky
bluer than I ever imagined.
But even now,
in all this gentle quiet,
something heavy sits behind my ribs.
It doesn’t speak —
it doesn’t need to.
It just is,
and it always has been.
I watch your face tilt toward the sun,
like a flower that trusts spring to come.
And I wonder —
how do you do it?
How do you believe in warmth
when winter still lives in your chest?
You ask me if I’m okay,
and I say yes,
because it would break the moment if I didn’t.
Because you look so happy.
Because this field is beautiful,
and the sky is trying so hard
to love me back.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
To sit beside you,
ticking moments into the earth
like seeds that might one day grow
into something lighter than this.
The sun slips lower,
and everything turns to honey.
You lean back on your elbows,
laugh lines deepening as you squint toward the horizon.
I memorize them like scripture.
I don’t know how long I’ll feel like this —
like I’m walking through syrup,
like I’ve misplaced the parts of myself that used to shine.
But when you brush your hand against mine,
even accidentally,
I feel the tiniest pull back to the surface.
I want to believe that this is real.
That something so soft
can last in a world that feels so sharp.
That you won’t tire of waiting for the better version of me
I keep promising it's just around the bend.
I want to stay.
Not just here, in this meadow —
but here, with you,
in whatever this is
we are quietly building
between silences and eye rolls and tucked-in socks.
If I lose myself again —
if the dark comes fast —
please, just remind me of today.
Remind me that once,
in a field of tall grass,
I felt the light, and I welcomed it in.
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