All The Things You Are
You are sunlight in the morning
Sleeping till noon and white puffy blankets balled in the center of the mattress
where we were tangled together
Morning tea in the afternoon
set to steep too long and cold
put in the microwave to warm back up
Soft and smile and fragrant skin
laughter and tickling fingers
You are late nights and early mornings
different timezones and phone calls that last forever
Fireflies and endless summers, a swimming pool in a strange city
seasons dancing as they whirl together hand in hand
and words that go on forever
A soft press against me sleeping and turning off the TV because the chatter is too loud
and dreams wont catch me until it's quiet
But you are also silence in stillness
because we never needed words
and eyes that are leaving before the rest of you knew you were
You are moments of pain so sharp that my lungs forget to breath
and sitting alone at a bus stop, watching the lines switch
and staring at my luggage because the sting of salt and sun
is too much on a crowded street in San Diego without you
You are the press of your hand in mine
in a car that is not your own
Saying goodbye even though you didn't know it at the time
You are my voice catching in my throat
as 19 years old I watch you walk away
and I can't say your name to call you back
To keep you with me
Because I know this is it and I wont see you again
Mostly though, you're just gone.
Sleeping till noon and white puffy blankets balled in the center of the mattress
where we were tangled together
Morning tea in the afternoon
set to steep too long and cold
put in the microwave to warm back up
Soft and smile and fragrant skin
laughter and tickling fingers
You are late nights and early mornings
different timezones and phone calls that last forever
Fireflies and endless summers, a swimming pool in a strange city
seasons dancing as they whirl together hand in hand
and words that go on forever
A soft press against me sleeping and turning off the TV because the chatter is too loud
and dreams wont catch me until it's quiet
But you are also silence in stillness
because we never needed words
and eyes that are leaving before the rest of you knew you were
You are moments of pain so sharp that my lungs forget to breath
and sitting alone at a bus stop, watching the lines switch
and staring at my luggage because the sting of salt and sun
is too much on a crowded street in San Diego without you
You are the press of your hand in mine
in a car that is not your own
Saying goodbye even though you didn't know it at the time
You are my voice catching in my throat
as 19 years old I watch you walk away
and I can't say your name to call you back
To keep you with me
Because I know this is it and I wont see you again
Mostly though, you're just gone.