never go a second hushing the percussion of your heart
You told me to never give up on you. In those exact words. And then you gave up on me. You sent me your grandmother's agate in a box and signed your picture with words like magic, and then you said "people grow up." You told me I needed a reminder a month, and then you reminded me for a decade. When I wanted no, and I needed yes, you sang Rolling Stones songs to me. You are every forever song. You poked your bones through your skin and melted my hair with your breath, and you cried at 4am because it hurt to breathe. So I slept in your down comforter while old people called me with their nightmares and someone else answered.
You were the yellow light on a gray day, and the smell of old books. I dropped my last coin in that payphone to hear your voice, and the alley smelled like homeless piss and there was a red bridge shadow across my chest when you said love. I sent your rock back. I walked a building length to put my arms around you one more time, you drove through two states and a motel panic attack for the exact same. You said come over, but aprons melt me to the sidewalk. There are puddles of me on sidewalks all over town. The crystals in your window made rainbows on your pillows, you said they were good energy so I carted them to every new place you lived. I wonder if they shuddered with every door and phone receiver you slammed in my face. It never worked. I keep one in a jar on my windowsill.
You wrote love on my arm. You wrote love in another word, or ten. You crowned me with roses and took my picture in wildflowers after a joust, and you said to follow my car's hood. You said believe me but I never could. And I stood outside your locked door with the key in my hand and waited for you to open it, and you did. You are caramel apples and parking lot skies. You are my theater shoulder and my too long jeans. You say recede like the tide, but always always return. You are every forever song. You are my desert rose and my opium vial. My cellar door and my Himalaya. You are broken lonely hotel rooms and a cat with a crooked tail. You are 124 and 1031. And you are always saying the words because it's too late too soon.
And you. You are caution and hope. You are laughter and smoke break tears. You are my every familiar fumbled word and every scraped knee I bandaged myself. December and Summer and alligator lizards in the air with the world shut out or the windows down. You are the secrets I will wait for, and the picture worth the thousand words. You are a message on a lonely train 2600 miles away. You are the lesson in unconditional, and the reason I can sing every word to It Don't Matter to Me and mean it. You are the novel in my inbox and every green light in traffic when I have to pee. You are office closet Hot Tamales and doorway cartwheels. You are my favorite cold stars and warm night phone calls. You said you'd love me anyway, and you did and you do. And you taught me everything I know about what matters in this world. You. Are the king of birds instead of my couch. Smiling tears that don't fall. Shoes that won't stay tied. You are my jumping out of bed, my devouring of words. You are every sunshine flower silhouette I meet, and every red cape in a phone booth. You are my hope, and my hope for you.
You told me to never give up on you. In those exact words. And then you gave up on me. You are every forever song and the best apron to ever walk into my life, the stitches on my heart. You are the crystal and pearls in a jar on my windowsill and the reason I will never regret a declaration of affection. And you are the shade under an antless oak tree, a sandwich gift, you are my thank you. You are what did I get myself into...together.
You. Are my lessons in living.
You were the yellow light on a gray day, and the smell of old books. I dropped my last coin in that payphone to hear your voice, and the alley smelled like homeless piss and there was a red bridge shadow across my chest when you said love. I sent your rock back. I walked a building length to put my arms around you one more time, you drove through two states and a motel panic attack for the exact same. You said come over, but aprons melt me to the sidewalk. There are puddles of me on sidewalks all over town. The crystals in your window made rainbows on your pillows, you said they were good energy so I carted them to every new place you lived. I wonder if they shuddered with every door and phone receiver you slammed in my face. It never worked. I keep one in a jar on my windowsill.
You wrote love on my arm. You wrote love in another word, or ten. You crowned me with roses and took my picture in wildflowers after a joust, and you said to follow my car's hood. You said believe me but I never could. And I stood outside your locked door with the key in my hand and waited for you to open it, and you did. You are caramel apples and parking lot skies. You are my theater shoulder and my too long jeans. You say recede like the tide, but always always return. You are every forever song. You are my desert rose and my opium vial. My cellar door and my Himalaya. You are broken lonely hotel rooms and a cat with a crooked tail. You are 124 and 1031. And you are always saying the words because it's too late too soon.
And you. You are caution and hope. You are laughter and smoke break tears. You are my every familiar fumbled word and every scraped knee I bandaged myself. December and Summer and alligator lizards in the air with the world shut out or the windows down. You are the secrets I will wait for, and the picture worth the thousand words. You are a message on a lonely train 2600 miles away. You are the lesson in unconditional, and the reason I can sing every word to It Don't Matter to Me and mean it. You are the novel in my inbox and every green light in traffic when I have to pee. You are office closet Hot Tamales and doorway cartwheels. You are my favorite cold stars and warm night phone calls. You said you'd love me anyway, and you did and you do. And you taught me everything I know about what matters in this world. You. Are the king of birds instead of my couch. Smiling tears that don't fall. Shoes that won't stay tied. You are my jumping out of bed, my devouring of words. You are every sunshine flower silhouette I meet, and every red cape in a phone booth. You are my hope, and my hope for you.
You told me to never give up on you. In those exact words. And then you gave up on me. You are every forever song and the best apron to ever walk into my life, the stitches on my heart. You are the crystal and pearls in a jar on my windowsill and the reason I will never regret a declaration of affection. And you are the shade under an antless oak tree, a sandwich gift, you are my thank you. You are what did I get myself into...together.
You. Are my lessons in living.