Somewhere between your chapped lips and the silhouette of your body pressed against mine, sits the spaces your figure can not fill in me. I’ve held onto your hand as if its grip would not let go of me; I assure you I was the one who could not let go.
I’ve grown tired of your crooked grin, your lighthouse teeth burning craters through my skin. I told the moon I wasn’t ready yet. Her glossy eyes blanketing me in warmth I have never felt from his hands. She asked if I still loved you. My reply, stuck between the backs of my teeth; it wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t confusion. I sat with my words swallowed in my chest, the lump in my throat bigger than the both of us. Sometimes I want so desperately to go home. But then I remember this is home.