TWELVE MONTHS.
11.16.07
Twelve minutes counted, I think that's a new record. Maybe in a few more I'll meet you between the Z's that are sewn into my pillow. You told me there were no monsters hiding underneath me, in the cave that's home to dust bunnies and other fluffy ambiguous animals. You told me that the boxes took up all the room down there. That my bed was a safe haven. I believed you. Twelve minutes counted, I recall your songs. They wrap around me; a New York blanket that keeps me warm at night in this new city of the smallest state. They're my New York lights that help shut my eyes to these unfamiliar nights. I was always afraid of the dark. And now you're fading.
Twelve hours go by, I guess I drifted into a few feeble hours of sleep. I sink deeper into the waves of my mattress but gravity wants more. It traces my bare silhouette with its needy fingers. It's a lose, lose, ironic catch 22. I'd push away, but then I'd just be...alone.
Twelve weeks since I first left you in September. And people said we couldn't do this. Their dry cracked lips frowning, doubting the only thing I believe in. The only thing I believe in after summers running through sprinklers in the city streets and after sitting defeated beside the swings because you can't seem to kick your legs out and reach the sky since you're not yet 12 years old. I believe in hopscotch and gingerbread houses. I believe in the first sandbox where I dug up my dreams and found that the treasure was already in my bucket. I believed in me, and I believed in you... so consequently, I believed in us. But twelve weeks since I first left you, you showed me that if you raked up all the leaves you'd be left bare and depleted. You lived in the country and your sprinklers were used to just keep the grass green at town pools. Your sandbox was an outstretched black beach, a muddy maze that would only destroy your new white pair of Keds.
Twelve months in all, yet it still feels as fresh as the autumn breeze. I wish we could shed off all the pain we feel, like the trees brushing off their dead leaves. Fall isn't here yet, but why'd you give up so early? Why can't you pull the plug, cut the tight rope, burn the mirror. Just stop the electrocution, let the acrobats fall to their fate, let me see myself without reflecting on how we lost our spark.
When twelve years go by, I will still remember indulging each breath I took next to you. Ridiculous road trips and stupid songs we made up about each other. How each minute I waited for you and each mile I drove for you only meant one less than the last... and all of them... were worth it. I'll remember how at lunch you always gave me your only cookie, and told my mom when I wasn't eating again. You told her my paper bags were empty and if you grabbed my wrist it would break. Break like tiny pieces of unsalted saltine crackers and my crumbs would get all over and you'd have to clean them up. But guess what. It's 11 months later and this October I've fought so hard to hold our relationship together even when you were questioning its worth.
I'll remember how I got better for you. How I melted all my ice to meet your warm embrace. I'll remember every bite I took for you. I'll remember how you made my life perfect until I left for college and you broke me into twelve pieces without even a touch of your fingertip.
Because you made me use up my only tissue boxes in 12 weeks and my nose only bled once. Because when we are together all you think about is when we’re not. Because I'll never let you read this. Because you give me nothing to fight for or to make me want to stay. Because you gave up even before it was meant to be over. Because you have no more love to give. Because my home is too close to your heart and nostalgia has me leashed.
And these are twelve reasons why I have to say goodbye for a while.
Twelve minutes counted, I think that's a new record. Maybe in a few more I'll meet you between the Z's that are sewn into my pillow. You told me there were no monsters hiding underneath me, in the cave that's home to dust bunnies and other fluffy ambiguous animals. You told me that the boxes took up all the room down there. That my bed was a safe haven. I believed you. Twelve minutes counted, I recall your songs. They wrap around me; a New York blanket that keeps me warm at night in this new city of the smallest state. They're my New York lights that help shut my eyes to these unfamiliar nights. I was always afraid of the dark. And now you're fading.
Twelve hours go by, I guess I drifted into a few feeble hours of sleep. I sink deeper into the waves of my mattress but gravity wants more. It traces my bare silhouette with its needy fingers. It's a lose, lose, ironic catch 22. I'd push away, but then I'd just be...alone.
Twelve weeks since I first left you in September. And people said we couldn't do this. Their dry cracked lips frowning, doubting the only thing I believe in. The only thing I believe in after summers running through sprinklers in the city streets and after sitting defeated beside the swings because you can't seem to kick your legs out and reach the sky since you're not yet 12 years old. I believe in hopscotch and gingerbread houses. I believe in the first sandbox where I dug up my dreams and found that the treasure was already in my bucket. I believed in me, and I believed in you... so consequently, I believed in us. But twelve weeks since I first left you, you showed me that if you raked up all the leaves you'd be left bare and depleted. You lived in the country and your sprinklers were used to just keep the grass green at town pools. Your sandbox was an outstretched black beach, a muddy maze that would only destroy your new white pair of Keds.
Twelve months in all, yet it still feels as fresh as the autumn breeze. I wish we could shed off all the pain we feel, like the trees brushing off their dead leaves. Fall isn't here yet, but why'd you give up so early? Why can't you pull the plug, cut the tight rope, burn the mirror. Just stop the electrocution, let the acrobats fall to their fate, let me see myself without reflecting on how we lost our spark.
When twelve years go by, I will still remember indulging each breath I took next to you. Ridiculous road trips and stupid songs we made up about each other. How each minute I waited for you and each mile I drove for you only meant one less than the last... and all of them... were worth it. I'll remember how at lunch you always gave me your only cookie, and told my mom when I wasn't eating again. You told her my paper bags were empty and if you grabbed my wrist it would break. Break like tiny pieces of unsalted saltine crackers and my crumbs would get all over and you'd have to clean them up. But guess what. It's 11 months later and this October I've fought so hard to hold our relationship together even when you were questioning its worth.
I'll remember how I got better for you. How I melted all my ice to meet your warm embrace. I'll remember every bite I took for you. I'll remember how you made my life perfect until I left for college and you broke me into twelve pieces without even a touch of your fingertip.
Because you made me use up my only tissue boxes in 12 weeks and my nose only bled once. Because when we are together all you think about is when we’re not. Because I'll never let you read this. Because you give me nothing to fight for or to make me want to stay. Because you gave up even before it was meant to be over. Because you have no more love to give. Because my home is too close to your heart and nostalgia has me leashed.
And these are twelve reasons why I have to say goodbye for a while.
