I spend every day thinking of you, ebbed in what ifs and lost nights lying in bed, wishing I had done things differently. Your presence is still felt in these four walls, the dark thickness of your protection enveloping me in all the risks I want to take. Do you know the intoxication of safety in a hopeless place? Did you think of me at the end of the day, wishing we had met in a different time and place? That, if only, I had whispered my digits to you in that crowded room in 2016, we’d be hopelessly in love instead of in this mess I created by being too afraid to trust the Creator. The days between one stupid choice and when we’ll meet again feels like barren deserts and an empty oasis. But it’s starting to smell like rivers in the wasteland and answered prayers; I’ve been wrong before. Creation has a way of teaching me what little I know about the art and science of supernatural architecture. I’ve been writing stories and poems about you long before we crossed paths. You were the flames that quenched my thirst as I ran headfirst towards singleness, a false intimacy to feed my soul when friends and lovers were nonexistent. I promised myself that I’d never get so close to anyone that I couldn’t leave in 30 seconds or less. Now, I’m sitting here wondering why it’s so hard to leave.


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