I remember that first drive back to your apartment. Our breath hung frozen in the air and I squeezed your hand thinking “don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave.” Because you hardly remind me of anyone I’ve ever known and my eagerness keeps catching me off guard. Later I tried to break us down with a sad attempt to entertain thoughts of anyone else, making excuses for the sloppy way I get when I’m scared, creating messes I never bother to clean up. Yet I still keep seeing you in this early morning city light and me laying there with my hard edges and stolen pile of blankets and it scares me. You could never press your fingers against me hard enough to leave finger prints but if you could, I hope you would, just so I’d have proof when you do eventually decide to go. Proof that I’m not nearly as unbreakable as I may have thought I was.
I found all of the old things I had written for you
and though I no longer wish for that
because I have fallen out
far more slowly than I dived in originally
you were always the first one to make
my heart rise and fall at
the very same time
and I just wish that your heart
had done the same
If I make you breakfast in bed, a simple “thank you” is all I need. Not all this “how did you get in my house” bullshit.