THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
You tell me you'll write me letters while I'm away, when I have to go back to California, have to leave home,
I go back and forth in my head on you, think of the secrets you've told me, the ones you haven't let go yet, the afternoons outside the train station before you go home, back to the seaside and out of the city- I rest my head in my hand while you speak. Our goodbyes are strange and unfulfilling.
This has been a month outside of reality, spend mostly alone with myself or alone with you.
In the constant push and pull, both spoken and kept to myself, I think, as weirdly as it's going, I still consider it only an eventuality. If things kept going as they are, edging ever closer, but didn't end up as I still think they will-
Well, I can't even really think about it.
I dream sometimes about you getting married, you with other nameless, faceless people and wake up agonized,
The day you left me waiting while you with her-
Still, I have to remind myself, you are not so secret to me anymore. And you spend every day with me, see me for hours-