Don’t go.

The footsteps you made yesterday were washed by rain this morning before we woke up. It’s past nine but the sun is clouded, and outside is cold like it’s already December when we’re barely past half of the year. We both know this day is different. Everything is calm and at peace, but not you and not me.

I asked you to stay even when you sounded like you wanted to leave. But you are a ghoul in the night, and I know how you will never settle. I heard you say, “remove the portraits on our walls”, but they will become hollow like the people we were before we found each other. I can hold you now, but you will always pass through the gaps in between my fingers. I will always try but you will always slip away.

I held you in bed, and I said I will not let go and you didn’t move away, but why did I feel a struggle bringing us back and forth to place I didn’t want to go? I can’t breathe while you sounded fine, and you take it away from me, you take away a beat from me.

You can be water vaporizing in front of me in blistering sun, but I will always try to catch a piece of you, please

Don’t go.


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