the slow art of breathing bitter

I Hope You Find This Someday

Our town's a small canvas of busy bugs and city sounds,

of wiggling lavenders and cracking hearts.

Even smaller is the house I live.

The beam of morning light doesn't touch my feet.

A cold breeze lingers long, brushing my trench coat.

I want to call and ask you

to forget what I said that day.

I still wish to squeeze the palm of your hand and walk another mile.

The song replays in my ears.

Your name glows in my piano notes.

Something swells inside me when I dream of you

in a field of dandelions, smiling in the fog.

Do you think of me, Charlie?

You once kissed me a promise,

"We'd meet again in the last sunset of this year."

Where are you? I can't find you anywhere.

The roads whistle low; ants line in curved patterns—

But you aren't here anymore.

Do you still love me, Charlie?

Love seems heavy on my heart.

It's motionless, visionless, soundless.

A fossil lies cold near my bed.

Has our love lost itself in time?

I couldn't find it in your coal eyes anymore.

Charl, look out there — the sun's falling.

The new dusk is coloring our dawn in neon shades.

The light's growing smaller, fading away like you.

My hands are numb to hold things too tight.

Life's fleeting; people are wrapping up —

Wait, there's so much left to say.

The butterfly mistakes, the lavender dreams,

The violet heartbreaks and the muffled letters are burning.

But where are you, Charl? I couldn't see you.

This burning wine reminds me of you every fucking second.

I can't cry; someone, help me.

I want to miss you more, but I can't.

I want to shove needles inside my skin, but I don't.

I don't want to miss you, darling.

I don't want things to turn periwinkle; 

I want nothing but you.

The song ends with my favorite tune;

It's getting dark, and I'm too tired.

Until the next time, Charl,

it's a farewell and not a goodbye.

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