walkinghormone

three weeks until im gone.

1,076 miles north.

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ill leave the scent of conditioner on our pillows.

my books, with creases in their cream pages.

the tennis shoes ive barely worn.

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little reminders of my presence.

a bathrobe with my imprint.

the little gifts, the puzzles, the polaroids.

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and the ghost of me will lay beside you.

the right side of the bed will carry my weight.

my soul will light the walls.

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but my body will be northern.

and ill cry, my bed’s left side empty.

thunderstorms down south.

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three.

the number of words that matter most.

like:

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i love you.

i miss you.

i need you.

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please wait for me.

wait for my hand to run through your hair.

wait for my kiss to reach your lips.

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and maybe if we wait.

if we close our eyes and wait.

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