tears in the typing pool

my words won't suffice, but a song always does.

succumb to the line
the finishing time
the long distance runner
has stopped on the corner
but i won't give up
although i've stopped too

before the end of me and you
the patchwork explains
the land is unchanged

interpret the rooms
my tears in the typing pool
the letters are sighing
the ink is still drying
I told you the truth
and now i sigh too

the page turns on me and you
across that white plain
the land is unchanged

it's quiet. I'm wet from my first hot bath in over a year at a place I call home, tangled blonde hairs plastered to my forehead and swaddled in down comforter's comfort. the candles are extinguished and I'm surrounded by brown boxes whose contents seem to mean less and less. the places I've been have molded me into who I am, but they do not belong to me, nor do they hold me down. I have photographs and movie ticket stubs and stories scrawled across cocktail napkins from dive bars across the continental US, and I have memories that shine so brightly they have no choice but to burn out into ephemera. I've got bruises and scars and war stories. I've also got every reason not to take everything for granted.

alone again, I am feeling as if I've woken up from a yearlong dream. defeat gave way for release.