Once your feet numbs, and the water you drink scratches your throat, you’ll remember me.
You’ll long for my brown eyes; those orbs full of sympathy, full of appreciation. Those mirrors that make you feel home.
You’ll make pilgrimage for my shoulders; those crooked mountains, however high, that are just a tear away. Those pillows that make you feel home.
You’ll wish to be deaf so you won’t remember my voice; those crackles, the Fourth of July on your All Soul’s Day, the one that fills you with warmth when you’re stuck in oblivion. Those thunders that make you feel home.
You’ll seek for my blaze, the warmth of your home, only to realize I have already locked you out. You’ll fucking want me more than your own life. You’ll want me more than I wanted you.