it's a bell ringing and too early on a january morning.
it's always january, it's always 10AM, there is always a bell ringing because there can’t not be.
there’s a fluke, or luck, destiny, a self-fulfilling prophecy where one of us ruins it for the other. where one of us is left to rot and the other one is left to live with it.
isn't it always going to be january?
it’s crowded rooms with not enough air, and a look, and your hands are always so clammy, but i want them pressing down on my sternum, enough to crack the bone underneath.
make sure im still whole and breathing. make sure you know what type of scar you’re leaving.
how can i say, let me see, please...show me more. how can i say my love has never known a measurement, overflowing and too much, but i need you to give me something.
i do not know how to go with grace, i do not know how to be selfless, i want and i want, and theres nothing pretty about the want that feels like suffocation.
that’s not what it is. none of this is what it is.
it’s like this:
it’s noise, too much of it. your fingers wrapped around my ankle and your eyes trained forward. maybe if you don't look it wont mean what its supposed to mean. maybe if you don’t breathe it in, i cant reach inside you and turn you over.
scar on my ankle bone that has your name all over it, it’s yours. all of it is yours.
thats what it is.
it’s a bloody nose, and bloody tissues falling at your feet. the twisted ankle and the ache in my elbow when the air starts to feel too frigid. it’s the aches and the scaring that wont ever leave me. it’s ugly and it’s torn ligaments and bile that rises up in my chest, filling my lungs.
it’s all yours. thats what it is.
what it isn't, is this.
it’s not what matters anymore.
it’s not a goodbye or a hello or anything else that makes you use your words. it's nothing that forces you to verbalize your desire.
it’s not the summer that’ll last as long as i’ll live, because we're stuck. because this is eternity.
because this is the price we pay to want, and to know it, and to keep it, and to be selfish, and to never have it ever again.
what it isn’t, is this:
love. but thats not true because-
we don’t need to say it. don’t suffocate it before we get to the good part.
what it is, is this:
a fear so abrasive and caustic that it rubs against the inside of your skin and leaves you bleeding out without you knowing.
so much hope that you can’t see the world being tilted over, obliterated and it’s nuclear.
it’s a kiss that means we have sealed our fate and you don’t even show up.
it’s sitting in traffic and pretending im not a second away from ripping open the passenger side door and puking all over the interstate. your hand on my knee and how do i say, im going to tear you limb for limb.
how do i ask you if that’s what shows you that i loved you? what more do you want from me?
it's how you don't step foot in texas anymore and how california feels like a siren call.
