I said I’ll sleep on the floor tonight. With Bon Iver playing from the vinyl on the top of your bookshelf. I turn my head to face the mason jar filled with “reasons to live” I scribbled with my trembling left hand at four in the morning when I thought I’d lost you to the flame colored crimson blood on your arms. And I told you I’d write you a song, a poem hell I’d even write a book for you but you didn’t need my words you needed so much more.
So I said I’d sleep on the floor, stare at the powder white roof plain with paint cracking at the edges, minutes before my eyes wander back to you and you ask me why it hurts so much. I try my best to lie but you know me too well and I end up telling you how much I want to fade into the storm almost as much as you. And for the first time in hours our conversation seems real, maybe because I’m no longer spitting bullshit about holding on or maybe because we’re both seconds away from dozing off into dreams of better lives and bigger hearts swelled with everything but the pain that weighs us down. -H