sarah

we say goodbye in pieces, like if we break it small enough it won’t shatter us completely… but it always will

loving you isn’t something i can pack away in a carry-on or fold between clothes. it follows me home, sits heavy in my room and sleeps on the side of the bed that should be yours  

every goodbye feels final even when we promise it’s not, even when we whisper “soon.”  

i picture mornings where i don’t have to leave you, where your voice isn’t filtered through speakers and signal, but right there, half asleep beside me

no more counting down visits, no more memorizing your face like i might forget... 

just us — in the quiet, ordinary forever we’ve been aching toward; a place where goodbye isn’t something we practice anymore

i am unfinished and inconvenient; conversations that stall out halfway, moods that drift like weather no one predicted. anyone else might pull out their umbrella for the storm, you stand in it like rain is nothing new

somehow your love burns steady through all of it — quiet but certain, a patience that feels almost like devotion, a passion that doesn’t flare and vanish, but stays warm and deliberate

maybe that’s why our paths bent back toward each other again — you take everything that’s misshapen in me and treat it as something worth keeping

the space between your outstretched arms that i have outgrown; the city that has now become a memory in my name; giving me what i couldn’t give myself; seeing more than what’s shown; staying when you could have left

what if all our incredible futures are still just bound for misery? a thing breaks, and we’re on fire with rage. was it supposed to enjoy eternity, like us? before trojans were mascots or condoms, they were warriors. before non-sequiturs were digressions, they were songs

the universe is an echo chamber of dissonant matter. heaven is a fraudulent quorum of stranded gods. i am detached from narrative, history, identity

on the days the stars conspire against me, i will conquer and overcome my ugliness