flower press sighs

How many ghosts must I always carry with me? / How much more must I expand to accommodate?

My first love was silence. I built myself from scratch and no one listened. […] All that womanhood caught in the roof of my mouth was like honey. I knew it would never go bad so I never said a word about it.

“It wasn’t my day. My week. My month. My year. My life. God damn it.”

I feel restricted, my soul is restricted inside me, I need another living space.

Even when I detach, I care. You can be separate from a thing and still care about it. If I wanted to detach completely, I would move my body away. I would stop the conversation midsentence. I would leave the bed. Instead, I hover over it for a second. I glance off in another direction. But I always glance back at you.

Today, my heart, like the front door, stands open for the first time in months.