Day 815:

"There is nothing more desperate than a wordsmith struggling to forge something meaningful and failing"

i've taken your poems
and found a place for each on my body
trying to make myself worthy of your words
my lips ready for the contour of your body
this is where i fail at doing you justice
everytime
where i forget how to hold you from a distance
this is where i am tremble and fall and hope you see enough of the intention to make my stammering worth it

the first night i held you
i could feel every wall around me crumble
one for every fracture
you found parts of my heart that hadnt moved for anyone in months maybe years
and turn my story inside out with your sigh
all i wanted was to make a home for myself somewhere behind your breath
where i swear your strength would lie
i could feel every amp of it pushing at my body
trying to carry me forward

sometimes when i open my eyes
i find myself looking past you
into someting that isnt there yet
but something i want
it taste like a stability i was never able to conjure
and makes me wonder
if i'll ever get used to the weight of this bed
when you are not kepping one half of it down

this is a poem for the morning
the ones i found you smiling, surprisingly
the ones that showed me how to love you properly
the ones i think of when i am trying to fall asleep
knowing
that tomorrow there will be no perfectly bent back before me
no lips to lead me forward
just an empty half of the bed
and the cold side of the pillow
one i forgot to turn
because i was thinking too much about you hands resting on the back of my neck
your lips on mine
to be anywhere tangible
to be in any kind of universe that would put you
too far away for me to know
you are breathing
for me