Bath talk

Let’s get a little real here.

It’s Sunday night and I want to call you. I want to scream that “I’m all yours”, but you wouldn’t hear me. You never do.

I check all the boxes that say “yes”, I put an “x” to mark the spot, I send smoke signals to be found, and yet I still sit here ready to drown in memories of what you smelled like, and what it felt like when you kissed me at 3am.

I wonder sometimes if you ever felt me shake in my sleep and that’s why you kissed me – knowing I was having a nightmare and bringing me back the only way you knew how. There was so much left unsaid that so many miles have now filled the gaps of.

I sleep here, you sleep there – we speak these words that keep us from speaking to another lover and our bodies remain locked doors crying for what we both didn’t realize we had until it was gone.

Isn’t that the way it always goes? Alone & filling spaces with empty bottles of emotions, sinking into oblivion pretending this was never even real. Excuses of imperfections & limitations to grasp why it isn’t still evolving.

Keeping busy to forget. Isn’t it a shame? Love so wasted. Energy so frozen. The artists within us longing for the push & pull. On paths with needs greater than ourselves.

Someday. We’ll meet again.