Find something that will keep you holding on.
when your clothes no longer smell of cigarettes
and your haircuts at 9 am don't mean anything
and you can lay on the kitchen floor,
face pressed into tile while you cry
and you don't wake up to furniture reorganized
and you can stay up painting for hours
without someone worrying out loud
about your sleeping schedule
and you can decorate your walls
with the paintings you don't have room for
and you don't have to compose yourself after crying
the stars never had to scream to be acknowledged,
the leaves on the trees never had to growl in frustration,
the water that gathers in street gutters doesn't have to sing,
the blanket you wrap yourself in doesn't have to be your only home
when you answer the phone
and make faces at yourself in window reflections
and open the curtains to let a little light in
and keep all the light switches facing down
because the brightness is too much for you,
tape pictures to your walls,
but they're pictures of people you don't know,
store the family photos under coffee tables
and never speak of your childhood
His arms are plunged into the sink,
Dish soap bubbles up to his elbows as he scrubs the excess bits of dinner from the plates.
And the air outside is cold.
But sometimes he looks out the window,
Watches rain turn to snow.
Arms snake around his small waist
And a chin rests gently on his shoulder,
The wintry light that had caught in his hair was mesmerising
And no matter how many times you had seen the curve of his shoulders,
The world can't be bleak if the lights are always off.