i find you in warm places. i find you on the tip of my tongue after a sip of morning coffee. i find you at the bottom of the bottle at the end of that same night. i find you in the flame of my favorite candle and in the smoke that floats from my mouth and into the air. i find you in things that only poison me. you float in the clouds above me and i let you. you’re always so down and so grey but stop taunting me, wouldn’t you? if you’re gonna pour, do it now while you have the chance or don’t do it at all. you’re like a drip of rain in the middle of a long, hot drought. you’ve always been such a tease, haven’t you? (and not just in a good way.) because your glass used to overflow. you used to flood lakes and rivers and i always thought one day your love would have me lost at sea but look at this mess you’ve made of me. it’s scorching. i feel the burn in the back of my throat as i bring the bottle of my lips. your touch was always too hot for me. burn-my-fingertips kind of hot. i didn’t used to mind blistering my hands for you. but this water has never tasted so sweet. and i no longer sweat in the heat of you. i don’t long for the summer to come. not now. and not ever again. (don’t play with fire because you are bound to get burned. and you always will. you always have.)
just a few new york towns away using the same metaphors absentmindedly. not thinking of each other. but thinking nonetheless. thinking of love and of loss but never of each other. it’s easy to remember the long things. the permanent ones. but the short ones, the hot ones, the happiest ones, those memories are a little foggy now. we don’t remember each other like we used to and my metaphors aren’t for you anymore. nor yours for me. yet they are still the same and have found a way to become happy, and that is the most comfort i could ever find.
if i say a word enough times it always sounds like your name. you’ve turned my favorite songs sour. i didn’t know sound had a taste but give me a second. let me wash my mouth out. scrub and scratch and gargle and spit. you’re the tingle in the back of my throat. the stupid spec that lingers after a coughing fit. i can’t get you out of my mouth. i just keep saying your name. (they’re gonna wonder what’s wrong with me) i say your name because it is the only word that brings comfort but why the fuck do i cough up blood every time i speak. i leave trails of it everywhere. it’s on my walls and my bed and my floor and to me it’s paint. i’ve never been much of an artist but i swear that i made this for you. and it’s beautiful. and i swear to -i swear if you don’t come back after all this. i swear. my clenched first will fall off my heart will burst my eyes will roll one hundred times over my bones will collapse to the floor and i don’t know where i’ll be. where i’ll go. maybe i’ll disintegrate. come back to me.