i can't see the sky

i hate the word lonely

it dries out my mouth like i had tried to swallow tumbleweeds, it scratches the back of my throat like i'm trying to regurgitate memories from an empty stomach. it leaves me sitting in the middle of an empty room and wishing the ceiling would cave in because then at least i'd be able to watch the stars

instead i'm just laying on top of the covers pretending to count them in the drywall and imagining what it would feel like to have your arm behind the curve in my neck. instead i'm closing my eyes and listening to the suction in my veins because i am hollow and caving in. i keep painting you with rich, lush adjectives, but you're just a cardboard pipe dream that falls flat and leaveleaveleaves me without air. 

i keep spending my nights sketching your eyes on the ceiling, but i still can't see the moon

and you know, i keep my hands busy during the day to ignore the faint shaking they do when i know they want to be holding yours. i keep my mouth talking to ignore the way my lips tremble and part when they are imagining praying against you. but being busy isn't working, it's just draining me dry and i find that when i come into my room at night, my defenses are down and i can't fight thoughts of you any longer

so this morning when the sun came through the window, i drank in the light like oxygen. i stretched across my bed and drew stars across my hips and lightning bugs around my torso. i drank three cups of coffee to bleach away the taste of you under my tongue and played music loud enough to shake away this bittersweet nostalgia. and i realized i can't live for you when it's not living at all

i can't spend my days counting the hours until the minute you finally arrive and kiss the seconds away

i need time to patch up my own heart before i can send it out on the airwaves

so i injected color into my arteries, jump started my pulse and let it flood my room. i splashed paint on my walls until they were bleeding the rainbow and i was able to dive in and out of the clashing hues. i wrote poems in the corner like a secret and placed a feather under my pillow to remind myself to float in my dreams. i called in sick and called in a favor and called in happiness before i packed up loneliness and called in a taxi

now i'm sitting on the couch in the middle of the house and i still can't see the stars

but i can see me and i can feel the sun through the windows and i know, i'm going to be alright