I am sewing all the small eternities we've shared at the back of your shoulder. Because I'm afraid that if you leave, you'd look past your blank canvas of a body and forget about me. Because that's all you do anyway. You leave, and you leave, and I wait.
In this house in me, the windows are all screwed shut and the curtains are left to dust. A spare key is hidden somewhere at the bottom of your favorite plant. And you know where it is. You're the only one who ever does.
And inside, I will be there knitting all the seasons that have passed in your absence, until they build into something warm and palpably bright. And once you open the door, I will welcome you home, and my arms will wrap around your neck like it was always meant to be there. Because maybe it is.
But until then, I will wait. I will watch you leave with a smile and dance into the night without so much as a kiss goodbye.
All because I was never brave enough to ask you to stay.
YOU ARE READING
confessions
PoesiaA series of word vomit including, but not limited to, poetry, excerpts, open letters and one-shots. All written within a span of a year.
