Sta.sh
everything here is red brick and i half expect to notice you
standing on the platform as i turn my head and try not to think
about it being over a decade since i saw you last. this time, again,
i'm just passing through and the man next to me talks on the phone,
"it would've been easier just to keep the dog, wouldn't it?
i'll talk to you later. i'll talk to you when i get home"
but here i am. i'm kind of leaving and it's unusual to have so many
things to go back for. i feel them pulling much more strongly than
when you knew me. it's a comfort to have these anchors now.
would you even recognise me after all these years? i sleep at night now,
most of the time. no more skin dripping from vodka-soaked bones and no
more desperately cutting all ties with myself, with everything.
maybe you'd look up and our eyes would meet at the station or on some
busy street and we'd both know it made more sense to just keep walking.
i've written so many letters to you, to myself, to us-at-nineteen-and-lost.
some i kept for years and some i tore to pieces as soon as i finished
writing them. this is just another pile of wasted words, before the fire.
from the window of the train, the world slides by under the watery light
of a tired sun and i remember that my life is something else now. something
different. something more. and as i drift off to sleep, i hear in my head
"i'll fall, but i'll heal. so hold me tight cause i'm so lonely"
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