Idaho

Waiting doesn't necessarily mean
staying in the same place,
but motion can be retrograde
and actions, mistakes.

Feeling doesn't necessarily mean
anything real,
but I still feel.
My heart beats,
but rhythms change involuntarily.
Emotions can be retrograde,
especially this late.

Empty room, my empty room, just boxes and pictures of you lying in drawers I never use, and I lie too. In July, the world is empty. Finally, something I can identify with. I lost you somewhere in between the cigarettes and loneliness. I crossed the country to see a Seattle sunset and came back feeling farther away than I'd ever been. I blamed my hands. My hands, they'd kill me if they had the chance. Every finger is a needle scratching grooves on the record of my heart, my calloused heart, so fickle and far apart from you. But I can still see you, like bright orange ball in the sky, burning through the Carolina evergreens and answering me with fire. It keeps getting hotter and higher and brighter, and it's all I ever think about.

"I wish you could put your ear up to my heart and hear
how much I love you."
I wish I could put my ear up to your heart and hear
how much you love me.