wishing we were here
you with me alone again
South, then north, crisscrossing the country trying to find a place to call home
. Someplace where we could fit in and be with people the same as us, someplace
more than to just call home, someplace that was home in our hearts. We never really did realize that part of having a home is giving up a little bit of yourself for it to hold, make a home out of someplace instead of waiting, always expecting it to just materialize out of nothing.
(scraps of paper
We were lying. There was no home because we never really wanted to settle down
. We would rather suck all the secrets
and treasures out of a town and move on before we had to start making our own
, before it started to suck us in. Greedy.
The windows down all the way we would hang our quickly browning arms out to feel the wind and world rushing past. Faster, the speedometer
would clock upwards and towns to cornfields
forest would slide by. Pretending we were seeing the country by the streaks it made out of the windows and lone gas station attendants
we would exchange pleasantries with.
At some point we stopped in a city and sold the car. Dissolusioned on the idea of understanding our country through a layer of metal and glass. That small claustrophobic apartment made home from things we could sneak off loading docks
or out of dumpsters
and accidentaly unlocked windows
. Walks in the park midnight cold alone and wandering the streets daytime anonymous, half wishing someone amazing would grab us at random and drag us into their own world within worlds of the city and all its silent people.
(candy apple green
The money from the car started to run out, even though we were only spending it on rent and some food to fill in the gaps where dumpstering
might slip. We were not paying the utilities
letting the two month grace period
keep us warm lit and watered, figuring, knowing that when they were cut off it would be over and time to move again. Perhaps less reckless without a car this time. And just as we were taking our tender
unreciprocated roots back in, making for a clean break
we met someone trying to pull us out.
(bits of dust
In an aging thrift store
layers of dust over rusting metal and broken glass secrets, someone wandering the store kept catch returning our glances. Hungry tired starved lonely ones, we sent out. We did that slow fearful wary circling for half an hour pretending interest in the same items over and over again until it ended with us in the same aisle, all smiling grinning slightly ashamed
of ourselves. When we knew better. We all know better, and we play those games anyways. Tricky small words reaching out for those first points to hold on, so we can pull in to the true parts we know are shared underneath. Well, at that halfway underneath where some of us are common, on top of the final alone
(gates to heaven