It’s nights like this that make me wish I could gnash mountains between my teeth and drain the stars from the sky. It’s nights like this that leave my limbs cold and my hands crackling so I’m on the floor trying to pick up all the pieces littered in the corners. Theoretically, if I decompose, I’ll find a way to compose myself before morning, but such a composition would never be music to the bleeding composite tongue binding around me.
(I’m wailing on the airwaves, trying find the right frequency, but it’s hard to hear my thoughts around all the static.)
The wind is too cold for March and my heart is too frosted for the heat of this love charring all my bones. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but they forgot to mention that it also makes the heart cramp and ache and swell. They forgot to mention that distance maims and time cripples and you’ll be dead-exhausted swimming against the tide of wants and desires building up the shorelines around you. You’ll collapse on the sand and cough up seaweed and the soap bubbles from when you cried so hard in the shower that you swallowed the shampoo slipping down your face.
You’ll be emaciated, you’ll be clawing at the air around you trying to tear down reality. You’ll learn to drive without seeing the road and learn to read without seeing the words and you’ll rip out your eyes, because you’ll learn they’re not useful. Don’t worry: you’ll learn to live without seeing the purpose.
Hopes are mocking and teasing and throwing the goal across the horizon before clanging the bell and expecting the race to start. The sprint. The marathon. Run. Run faster. Run longer. It’s almost there and I have to be there before time swallows itself. I have to run until my feet bleed. I have to run until my lungs balloon. I have to run for air, for peace, for home.
— I have to run.
Oh, I’m almost there and I’m nowhere near close enough. I’m almost there and it feels like my toe is still dragging the starting line. Don’t you know? I still catch feather light trails of your scent. I still shiver when the wind presses where your palms did. It’s enough to drag one more step and then another. I’m running and I’m almost there. Wait for me, darling. My limbs are charred from this want, but they’ll hold together for another step. My bones are sparking, but I won’t go up in flames yet. I’ll bind myself together and dam the tears, because this agony is worth it and this time is nothing but a blink if I think about it. I’m shaking, but it’s just because the wind is cold and I’m quaking, but it’s just because I’m lacking sleep. Today. I’ll run to you today. Tomorrow. I’ll run tomorrow and I’ll be there soon. The day after — I’ll run then too.
Wait for me, Wait for me, Wait —.