I’ve always heard that home is where you make it. I’ve decided home is wherever you are. I assume it’s kind of redundant, maybe obvious. I’ve made this decision twenty times before. Not a soul in this state can deny it.  I’ve painted my ceiling with your promises. I keep thinking about the same things. And every thought seems to be laced and woven with some idea of you. It’s like you’ve made a home in every single stem in my brain and you’re growing over all I have. 

What would you say if you found out you’re everything? 

I have so much left to say to you. I don’t want to have to tell you that I need you. That I’m constantly jumping between the lines that divide us. That everyday they seem to grow farther apart, regardless of how close we get. I don’t want to have to spell it out for you..and honestly I don’t think I have to. 

I’m sticking to the idea that one day it’ll be different. II’m holding on to it and I know you are too. We both know it will. I’m sure we’ve talked about it a thousand times. In our heads anyway. 

When I feel like the world’s caving in I know I have something to hold out for. 

We can be anything. We can be the whole entire world. Guide each over mountains and beneath the northern lights. I can gather all the clouds on my floor so we have somewhere to sleep. Lock ourselves away from anyone that might doubt us, anyone that doesn’t believe in us - what we can do. 

I’ve told you I can’t use words. I’ve lost them. I’ve lost any combination of letters to describe you because they don’t mean enough. They should be enough. But they never are.