we're running away:
my man likes to ride the trains. our house was not built
for lonely wanderers. i live like a widow when he's gone,
carving tallies in my furnished jail. when he tramples back,
he traces the patterns of my dusty dresses
and tells me how much they remind him
of the wilderness. he's never truly happy to be home
and there's always more time to breathe
when i'm alone. we're too young to forget how much we cherish
freedom. we are built to be love's biggest failures.
No comments:
Post a Comment