Meet me at the motel, tie my right hand to the bible
I think I'm afraid of getting close to people.
Because I am so nomadic and I'm so unstable and I have no idea what I can offer anyone anymore. Because I can't go part of the way, because I want all the way in, roots in your core, to see you naked and brilliant, dark veined like marble, in all your complexity. And I'm not talking flesh here. I mean to say your soul.
But I'm leaving. Some day. Oregon to California to maybe a different person in five years, a year, two months.
It's hard to get to know new people and it's hard to reach out to old friends because I'm still forming and I don't want to let anyone down or let anyone go.
It is hard enough to leave already, to be anywhere I am missing somewhere else. I am missing the people I leave behind.
I want to promise you eternities. I want to say I will make me a willow cabin at your gate. I will wait for you forever. I will always be here, you can count on me. I am your sworn brother, you are my love. You can call on me.
Writing is hard because I slip in and out of writing letters to you inside of a general narrative. Because I have the audience of everyone, who I call “you”, and then I have my one You, and I can't write these to you anymore. I can't hand you envelopes filled with letters on notebook paper and bunches of lavender and key words like “ivy” and “tiger” clipped out of newspapers.
Because I am so nomadic and I'm so unstable and I have no idea what I can offer anyone anymore. Because I can't go part of the way, because I want all the way in, roots in your core, to see you naked and brilliant, dark veined like marble, in all your complexity. And I'm not talking flesh here. I mean to say your soul.
But I'm leaving. Some day. Oregon to California to maybe a different person in five years, a year, two months.
It's hard to get to know new people and it's hard to reach out to old friends because I'm still forming and I don't want to let anyone down or let anyone go.
It is hard enough to leave already, to be anywhere I am missing somewhere else. I am missing the people I leave behind.
I want to promise you eternities. I want to say I will make me a willow cabin at your gate. I will wait for you forever. I will always be here, you can count on me. I am your sworn brother, you are my love. You can call on me.
Writing is hard because I slip in and out of writing letters to you inside of a general narrative. Because I have the audience of everyone, who I call “you”, and then I have my one You, and I can't write these to you anymore. I can't hand you envelopes filled with letters on notebook paper and bunches of lavender and key words like “ivy” and “tiger” clipped out of newspapers.