“You trace the spirals of my hair with fingertips I’d recognize anywhere and I whisper secrets into ears that have already heard it all.
I hope that you still listen.
We sit on blankets and our shoulders touch and our hands tremble as one reaches for the other.
But our eyes hold steady.
I yearn for parts of you I never thought I’d miss—bitten fingernails, bruised knees, parting lips. So I stroke your fingers and I poke your knees, and I linger for hours on those delicately parted lips.
We will not be together for long, and this reminds me so much of the way things used to be:
me coming
you going
one of us always missing
You’re still you, and I’m still me, and some things change but others stay the same.
(And I’m not sure which to hold onto.)
I can’t tell if distance or time or any of this will mean anything.
I can’t tell if I’ll cry.
I’m so tired of saying the word “again”, but I’ll never be tired of you.”