#12 - 4u

i don't know when you stopped looking for me the way i do, for you. i feel you in the back of my throat all of the time, and i've always been one to sit and wait my turn. i learned how to become patient even when my legs don't stop moving and i feel like i'm constantly saying the same string of words over and over which, i know they lost meaning over time despite what little i can seem to conjure up to prove each one.

and i genuinely thought that if constantly ran and ran and ran i would eventually be faster than my genetics seem to be chasing behind me, because i used to understand what you felt just by the way you tapped a finger on the edge of a counter top, 

you speak in a language i can only dream to understand. i don't like french, i passed spanish by the skin of my teeth and latin is dead. i cant seem to untangle a depth to what from my view is shallow water.

ive always fucking hated swimming-skin tight clothing, wet dripping, the fear of jumping head first, and drowning. 

but sometimes if i feel inclined, i get the will to track into the deep end. ill try to stand in a pit that i know is taller than the height i've grown to offer up to the plate, and if i stand just right, i can peak my head over the edge of the top. and if i let go, i know i can sink down.

sink and sink and sink. i have always been nothing but an anchor that drags whatever it can touch down to the ocean floor.

ive made my weight everyone else's burden to bare and i don't know how to say i'm sorry. every other sentence leads me back into a circle and i can feel you stuck in every part of my gums. i don't know how to apologize for only truly craving the way you taste.

taste, in the way you can vaguely remember your favorite childhood candy, anything else you try is only reminiscent of a distant memory. you can only use it as a comparison 

i don't think i know how to stop until i get back to it again. i left the light on, like i promised, just in case you decided to come back home. i don't know what safe is, but it's so easy to leave the door unlocked if theres a chance ill wake up to you one more time.

ive always been complained to that every inch of me is too cold, too rough, so i've made it a habit to avoid touch like i would give someone else a curse i had no control of obtaining. you always managed to hold me with the fragility of a piece of thin glass.

not even with the thought that ill break at a gust of wind, but in that way when you're holding something softly, with care. 

you told me you were burning from the inside out, that the cold was like stepping outside for air in a stuffy room.

im sorry i don't know how to give anything but frostbite.