(Written weeks ago, was not going to share but seems fitting now that I’m stopped in Amarillo. 2/18/21)
Tomorrow reminds me of your shining, dark eyes. Tomorrow reminds me that I left them behind – somewhere I can’t remember. When I wake up tomorrow it will be cold, and I’ll be scared. For a little.
When I wake up tomorrow I will think of you and wonder what you’re seeing. When I wake up tomorrow I won’t want to move. I’ll hold my breath and sing my favorite song, I’ll sing it without one drop of oxygen or one lick of water. I’ll hear the way my body sinks in the sand, the spines. My spine. Your soil. My tent is ripped, two slits I covered with yellow tape. Yellow reminds me of haley and my childhood bedroom. Bedrooms and beds and home. Home is where the heart is, and mine is both too many places and also only in my chest.
I guess my home is in my chest. My body. My body is my home and I love her. My body is my home and I love her. When I wake up tomorrow my body will hurt. Hurting is ok. Tomorrow reminds me that hurting is ok as long as you can keep going. I want to always keep going – they say “remember to slow down” – I’m trying to slow down. I’m scared to slow down I’m scared of stopping I don’t ever want to stop. When I wake up tomorrow I will start moving and moving reminds me of the wind, the wind that is my friend, the wind that never stops. Tomorrow reminds me that I’m both one step closer and one step further from what I love.
That I chose to love people on both coasts leaves thousands of empty miles in the middle. Thousands of empty miles leaves space for new love.