I forget sometimes, the way we speak when we are are being us. I can get around on the mornings we share and the evenings we don’t speak, and it all feels like separate life times. If I tried to tell someone else, all the ways in which I want you, they’d think I were either blessed or set out to sea. Days go by and I’m not sure. Years have gone by and I’m not sure. I’ve been looking around lately for people with bones and know they have bones. I want people around me who live on conviction, or at least people who know what that word feels like.
When the mornings get long and the window panes are wet I wonder how well you sleep. The bed is big and yet not big enough for either of us to get along in. I’ve believed in a lot in this life, but I’ve never believed in anything the way I do in this. And that still isn’t enough. I should fold this up and walk it over to your house, spell it out for you. But I wont. Because I too lack the one thing I need.