I was going to call you, someday when I was older. When I had less time to think, less time to plan the ways we would fail one another.
I was going to wait for that moment that everyone talks about, that connects all the missing pieces, the one where colors flash before your eyes and the sky unfolds outward, making sure that it is lending a helping hand when you leap.
I was going to wait for that still moment when my heart took flight and landed effortlessly against your chest because that’s the only place she ever managed to spell out the word home.
But suddenly, all at once I remembered that I was the only one left. The only one who needed to get out and go and do anything and everything to get this endless weight off my ribcage, where it has only been cracking bone.
But as it goes, that meant leaving you. Not explaining myself, just throwing grit against the desert sky and hoping you would come to some kind of conclusion. That you would write in the end.
And that meant not saying goodbye because that’s the only thing I could never get quite right.
But I hope that one day, when we both have new lives and are closer to happy, that I’ll come back to you and smile. That I’ll come back to you in the same ways that I left. And I’ll know then all the things I couldn’t be too sure of. That time when we were almost in love.
Believe me, I know. We were so close to the part where it gets good. And I want you to know, before I forget how exactly to say it or anything else, you were the shifting.
You were very simply the part that I almost got right.