I wrote to you.
I’m scared, except that I’m a little buzzed,
A little drunk with figs and sour beer.
I’m a little hot,
A little warm beneath my skin,
A little numbed to my pain, and yours.
It’s nice…
The love flows more freely,
And I don’t remember what it felt,
What it feels to have you try to tie my heart in knots,
What it feels to have you try to wash me away.
If no one wants to love me,
My cats,
My puppy do.
Who
Are you
To them?
What
Have you
On them
When they are there, eternally;
When they are there, infinitely.
When they live, and love…?
Am I not more safe within the confines of my forest,
Within the confines of my home?
And still, these ripples carry me away to you.
And still, these ripples start with the thought of you,
And still, this heart is a hole without you…
And still, my love is with you.
And still…
There are always others,
Aching to be let in
For a moment,
For a day,
For ever…
And still, I am alone….
Are we always alone?
