the people coming here after me.
the ones that'll step in my footprints,
whose feet will plod against the carpet
in mornings and nights and before road trips
and whose knees will hit the floor in grand gratitude
for the roots they've planted.
I never planted roots here
but I wanted to. I really did. and
the seeds were sown and wishes were
watered with tears from so many of us. and
it doesn't seem to matter where they came from,
but they came from somewhere, didn't they? is there
something about these walls?
this was going to be a home.
this was going to be somewhere in
which lives were built and loves were born
and times were spent and places were gone and
people were supposed to love each other here. people
were supposed to be joined and impassioned and nobody
was supposed to do anything but smile.
and I don't think they won't, for
whatever it's worth. they're wonder
ful people, by all accounts. they bought
my furniture. all but the couch. they've got
my bed, my bookshelves, my desk, and even my
nightstand. in my new place, I'll have nowhere to put
my bedtime bottle of water.
but there are worse things, I
think. because this is the place where you
would get so sad sometimes. you'd touch me and
then recoil like a new years' eve party whistle that'd lost
its breath. I hated so much to be the source of that shame,
every time you'd beg me to hold you and then I'd watch you slink
away into the morning for a brighter day.
I think they'll be happier,
though. they know just what they
want and, by all accounts, it looks like
it's just each other. everything else is just
100% peripheral to it, like they're each others'
stepping stones to this place that they're going and
they don't know where it is but it doesn't matter because
their companionship, the knowing that they can count on each
other for air water food shelter life love is all they need and I bet
that they go on road trips whenever they can and they have no conflict
whatsoever in each other and it's the easiest thing in the world and nothing
gets in their way and everyone (including themselves) are totally supportive and
there aren't any secrets because they've thrown it all in the sky like confetti and they
might not understand where it'll all land but they know it'll land somewhere, because that's
where things land when they matter, you know? everything has to land somewhere, and they will.
and I want to land somewhere.
I'm tired of mirrors. I don't want to
see myself in anything. I want to see some
thing else in the whites of eyes. I don't like being
whispered about. I want to be shouted from the roof
tops of this horrible town, to have everyone know that I'm
a light in someone's sky. I've been a catalyst for so long, but now
I don't want to be a secret anymore.