Your weapon was dipped in heartache and a cancelled future before you thrust it through my chest
I’d love to tell you how fine I’m doing, but even more I’d love to hold you again
Here we are at week 8, still bound to the burden of what may have sustained
Here you are—struggling to disregard our potential
Here I am—refusing to let go of mere fireflies because maybe these lights will guide me home
The saddest realization is that maybe I won’t find home—maybe it’s already found me and left
If a house could walk away, would it stay?