I never meant for it to feel like this. I never meant to feel you in the floorboards and let you slip in through the open window that you left wide open when you slept next to me. I didn’t expect to hear your voice when I listen to our song and feel your hands wrap around my lungs when I start my car. Like the engine is going to explode and I’ll never be able to get to you. It’s like my windows are breaking with the words you keep throwing and the glass is all over the floor and I can’t pick it up and I can’t make it go away. I keep walking barefoot and I can’t fix it and I can’t forget. Because there’s stains in the sink and you’ve written words in the air and every morning I wake up and my first breath is your thoughts. I like them. I hope you think forever. It’s nice to wake up to your voice. 

Its been years, it’s been years, it’s been years. But it still feels like yesterday. I wonder if I’ll feel like this again. 

Do you ever read people? I’ve read more people than books. I can tell you more stories than the New York Public Library. Your book I keep secret though. No one else needs to know anything about us. I think I’ve written a novel about the way I felt that night alone for the first time. I wrote a few lines about the way your tires look when they spin away from me. They’re sad and lonely, I don’t think you’d want to read them. But if you want, you can. Don’t be surprised that your name is on every single page.  

You’re good for me. I think you’re what’s keeping me floating. And it’s funny because I’d like to call you my anchor. Maybe we can be a ship. And sail across the Atlantic, far away from anyone else. You’re all I ever need anyway.