𝔄 𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞 𝔭𝔬𝔢𝔪: 𝔄 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔑𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔰𝔨𝔞, 𝔈𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔩 ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔫
We ran until our lungs burnt
and felt as though they were
going to burn to a crisp,
our blistered feet paving a dirt path
to that run-down cruddy place.
Your tender voice was the sweetest melody,
but the silence and presence of each other
was our favorite song.
It was us against the cruel world,
you, my man, and I, your girl.
We were each other's and no one else's.
I will forever walk those roads
to that house in Nebraska.
Our house in Nebraska.
The warm, sticky Alabama air always
wears me out, but it's all worth it
for the nostalgic and bittersweet feeling
of my body hitting that rotting mattress
on the second floor, we always found ourselves on.
I would get lost in those icy blue eyes
and forgot about the world,
as if it were empty with just you and me.
Everyday, it was the same.
You came.
I laughed.
You left.
And I missed you.
But I knew you'd come back the next.
And now I come.
I laugh.
You don't come in the first place,
so you can't leave.
And I cry
until my eyes are dried like a sponge
and bloodshot red,
and lord knows what the bottles do.
I sob into the dirty and rotting bedsheets,
reminiscing on your words.
"If we died tonight,
you'd die mine."
Your country accent and impersonation of my father
was ridiculously hilarious.
I laughed for 10 straight minutes,
tears waterfalling from the cackling.
Your sweet momma checks up on me every Sunday
before service,
and I always lie and say I'm just fine.
Always peachy.
But in reality,
I'd commit a felony and far worse to hold you again.
It aches like a stab wound to the chest to miss you,
but it's even worse to know I'm the reason
you'll never come home.
I sit on the edge of town,
scraping the dead paint with my nubs for finger nails,
and I pray that you'll come back to
the Cain residence for one last kiss.
I still have the box of photographs,
stashed beside the crusty mattress.
The first day we met.
I thought you were the most handsome boy
I'd ever met.
It was love, I guess.
And god, I miss you.
I feel so alone.
I feel so alone without you, boy.
And the photographs disappeared.
I miss you.
I want you.
I need you.
