wondering if you can feel when my eyes pierce your frame. thinking maybe one day i could be walking beside you and without hesitation, you'd extend your hand. days and nights are filled with us, and i know you don't look at anyone the way you look at me. i've got writings on the walls and notes posted to my bed frame as reminders of where you'll be and who is in your head. still, there is comfort in the room when you're here. you take in the fumes and toxins and rage, even the ones caused by your futile mistakes, and clear the sordid spaces in my head. i've played with the idea of writing you off and sending out every one of your incredibly deserved fuck yous, but i care for you with too much of myself to ever send you away for good. for now, i'll cry behind closed doors and shake in front of the manifestations of my worst fears (colored jeans, sunglasses, jean jackets and the idea that you might be wishing to be close to him) until I know I'm on the mend.
I held your hand with all the force behind my joints. I wanted you to hold me one last time and mean it, and I'll never forget how it felt when you finally did. My limbs feel wrecked, my heart feels betrayed - but i've got you. somehow, you're here.
As long as you're around,
I never want to feel the universe expanding between us again.