The Art Of Longing

The only way I can help you imagine is comparing it to eating a whole carton of sweet, succulent raspberries. Wishing each would be better than the next. I felt every bug scamper away to other places to rest, no longer picking at the seams that kept my demons under

lock and key.

'This would be the person I'd call if I was dying' I thought. I've never thought that. If I was in towers, hearing the floors collapse one by one, I'd scream I loved him until the dominoes ticked down to me. I'd let the ash and the papers, and the people swirl around me and wouldn't mind it at all.

If my car was barreling down a highway, you'd flash right by me in the passenger seat and there would be some cinematic smile or something. I can't think of it but I'm sure it'd be peaceful.

I sat cross legged, coy and regretful of how much of myself I'd never be able to explain just right to you.

That even if I contradicted myself, I'd have a million reasons why.

I had a million reasons why I couldn't look at you or why I should only hug you once before you go.

I couldn't stop your mother from grieving. I know our parents are apart, but they are together across our faces. I can't stop the world from hurting you and twisting your insides until you're left staring in the mirror rubbing your eyes until morning light.

I can't kiss you, or feel your body awake next to mine. I can't put my hand in yours and hush you back to sleep. Only you and I were the witnesses of our syncing. When is being enough ever enough, I plead to you. You assured every flaw. You can't stay here, you have a different home you need to be. I can't keep you.

But I can hug you twice before you leave.