By: JJ Moonchild
It's somewhere between half-past missing you,
and it all never having happened.
It's somewhere in the middle of a panic attack,
and the fetal position in your favorite sweatshirt.
Time zones apart and miles from who we used to be,
I catch myself slipping into oblivion repeatedly.
waiting to one day be free from the fears,
that earthquake through my narrow veins.
Autumn has always been my favorite season,
I fall in love with the way that leaves dance to the ground.
Fully embracing their crumbling ends, everfalling soundlessly.
It's the backyard fence with that rusty old gate that could never lead anywhere remotely special.
It was feeling free inside the cages society had carved for us,
out of all the scars we collected. Shown off at dinner parties, baptisms, and every great aunt's funeral.
It's crazy that it's almost been a whole year since our eyes last embraced, and held the others gaze like a frightened gazelle uncertain if the whirlpool beneath it was the start of existence or the end of it.
Your manic pool deep kisses always held me,
hostage in your shallow breaths,
with taste bursting lies as pure as stolen ivory, broken lullabies
and libraries full of false fairy tales.
It's somewhere in the creation of empty promises that we found security, in the fact that with all these mistakes we make so proudly. We might at least one day get it right, even if only accidentally or as purposefully as a dimly-lit alleyway ever buzzing with tornado loud silence.
It's somewhere beneath all the "I am okay's" and "I'm just not ready's", that I still find myself chaotically re-arranging all the syllables that once pathed home to the letters we wrote in hushed whispers.