i'm not all whole and healed yet. but i'm really trying to be.
As long as there is love, there will be grief —
I mourn aloud, down every street,
ghost-hunting in the glare of rain-slicked glass,
loving you still,
-a stillness-
in the restless haze of dreams.
Everything I do besides falling in love is overly cautious; looking both ways when exiting an aisle at the grocery store. I’m waiting for someone to bring me back home to myself. I’m getting closer, growing comfortable with the creak of a silent room. In the emptiness, there’s a shivering, weighty kind of longing. And it’s easier to drown it out when there’s a disinterested drawl from another, but I know I want for better. For more. A love that isn’t escapism. A love where I don’t lose inspiration, and write in the margins of my grocery list.
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