Reasons

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I'm almost leaving again. I do want to edit my life. The room was so dark last night I wouldn't be able to see your eyes. There was music. The music I brought for the two of us. But there was only me. You know. Your voice whispered. Your impressions on my soul. I had you on my mind. I had you. A long time ago. Maybe it was just the image of you that made me stay. What do I do with our story? What do I do to the story that my mind is writing about us? Is this the final chapter? And then I feel the pressure of your hands on my flesh. Gentle. You spending time on me. Your voice. I try to avoid thinking, it's painful. I miss the things we whisper about. The dreams. We're going to get back on track, but that to me is like offering a cage to a free bird. It's a shelter. We hope and wait and clash. And leave the house searching for something we're not going to find. We already have. And the hoping sometimes isn't enough. I don't pray. I don't have God to rely on. Would he save me? Would he give me patience? Would he know what I need?

I'm never going to forget how to fly. With you.
I don't want to take my freedom with you for granted.

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