(no subject)
I'm flying through the night in this city where I can never be lonely, loving the way the light caresses familiar streets and memories.
I think this is why I can't love you, I don't see you framed by the buildings of my relative youth, sprawling comfortably across my world as on a threadbare couch. I don't see you at home in the places I am always homesick for, but rather sight-seeing and humouring me. You would find it nice. Cool. Charming. You would pause and trip in the crowded streets, unused to dodging deftly the flow of human traffic. You would like the parks, the streets, the quirky little coffee shops and independent bookstores, but they wouldn't haunt your dreams. You would want to do what the tourists do.
You stroke my hair, you like how it smells, and you are kind with this fish out of water. We take your time, and the pace is gentle but inevitable. You show me your tree-lined squares, favourite galleries, the council-sponsored community amusements, and I miss the cynical whimsy of home. You mistake my bemusement for rage, and I am glad I never let these two worlds collide, for the unspoiled sanctuary of coming home.
I think this is why I can't love you, I don't see you framed by the buildings of my relative youth, sprawling comfortably across my world as on a threadbare couch. I don't see you at home in the places I am always homesick for, but rather sight-seeing and humouring me. You would find it nice. Cool. Charming. You would pause and trip in the crowded streets, unused to dodging deftly the flow of human traffic. You would like the parks, the streets, the quirky little coffee shops and independent bookstores, but they wouldn't haunt your dreams. You would want to do what the tourists do.
You stroke my hair, you like how it smells, and you are kind with this fish out of water. We take your time, and the pace is gentle but inevitable. You show me your tree-lined squares, favourite galleries, the council-sponsored community amusements, and I miss the cynical whimsy of home. You mistake my bemusement for rage, and I am glad I never let these two worlds collide, for the unspoiled sanctuary of coming home.