Lately I’ve been mostly crashing. Counting calendar boxes again, shaky fingers still searching. I listened to that poem about trying to find God in everything and tried, but with every opening of the eye, his stature only got smaller—had me asking “where have you been?” (What sullen audacity grows in me.) There is something to be said for all of these run-on sentences. When I fell onto your couch in your arms I felt a part of myself get dislodged and it’s been rambling around inside of me ever since. Who knew being liked by someone could make you feel so alone? And I’m sweeping up the broken glass, flashing back to the train ride home, your lips, my hands, all of this stupidity. Even my mom on the phone keeps asking “will you miss him when he hops the plane?” and I know it would make sense if I did—that would be an okay thing to do—but I can’t really wrap my head around missing someone who you know will come back. Fourteen days. It will only be fourteen days and how do you miss someone who you’re always trying to kick out? 

(You don’t. I won’t.)