when i walked you to your car after our first date,
i looked up at the sky,
somehow surprised by how much
this universe can hold without breaking.
you taught me the names of constellations,
pointed them out, traced them with your
fingertips as if through being gentle
you could avoid being burned by three years worth
of supernovas.
in the end, there is no tragedy like the beginning,
and i would restart a thousand clocks
just to say goodbye to you over and over and over again.
when i hear you breathe, the world steadies itself.
things stop burning themselves out. you make me feel
so goddamn full of light,
and i need that, here. i need…
you, here,
waking and sleeping
and i keep trying to fit other people
into the spaces you occupy in my mind,
but i can’t because
none of them will ever reach me like you did.
you’re under my skin, inside my bones,
pressing thumbprints into my soul
with every single it’s getting late, i should go,
you caused a hundred thunderstorms in my heart.
the first time you kissed me, i cried
i thought there would never be anything else
that would feel that holy,
and you know what?
i was right
tonight, you’re a thousand miles away in michigan,
staring up at that blanket of light that i don’t think of anymore.
i never thought i’d miss the sky
but you painted its wholeness into my dark nights
and filled me up with so much radiance that I’m empty of, now,
missing the highways of a hometown that doesn’t belong to either of us anymore.
this is a poem about distance.
this is a poem about the mind-blowing cost of airplane tickets.
this is a poem about those suburban teenagers,
a lifetime ago, who told each other not to love too harshly but did, anyway,
tried, anyway,
promised, anyway,
anyway,
i wish you were here.
every night when i step outside i think,
you would hate the city.
there’s nowhere you can see the stars.
