This past October I have found that humans by nature long for this place called home. We are constantly saying “I want to go home now” or “I’ve been homesick.”
This past October I have found that humans by nature, have matches sewn to their finger tips; we ruin everything we touch–
I still have ashes on my spine where your handprints like to sleep; of the last night you ever touched me,
the last night you ever burned me.
This past October I have learned that it is better to shove silence into my eardrums than listen to the sound of you leaving:
I have learned that it is easier to swallow my own heart than it is to let you hear that it still beats;
After all this time, it still beats.
I have lions beneath my veins, I have tried to tell you, this is not what courage looks like.
Oversized sweaters curled over the backs of my hands, trying to hide
the parts of me that weren’t strong enough to hold onto you; I have tried to tell you
this, is not what courage looks like
I am not a lion,
I am not brave.
This past October I have learned that this place we long for, this place that owns the warm sheets that hold our tired spines as we collapse into these hands, this place we say we miss when we’ve been gone for too long, this place that sits and waits for us to return, this place is not home.
Because when you return from being gone you will find that the home you couldn’t wait to come back to, is nothing but an empty room, and the hands that used to hold you are under someone else’s spine.