why do things so innocuous hit me so hard in the parameters of my heart when i think of you?
a picture of the lilac sky.
a journal.
a camera.
a text.
it’s like an actual wall of emotion, actual cloud of happiness, actual haze of some feeling i’m too scared to describe
because this love will never be convenient.
i miss you
and i think a part of me is with you, and the seasons never affect us the way i thought they would.
i wish i could fall asleep without thinking about you,
i wish i could breathe without thinking about you,
but you’ve made yourself a home inside of this tourist heart, but i’m wondering if we’ll only be tourist loves.
a thousand miles away,
too far,
too close,
too damn convoluted to really stop and think about it.
but it’s okay. we can sit and talk and listen and it’ll be okay.
cause you’re there
and i’m here,
and somehow it never matters to us.
