the other side of the doorstep isn’t much better from where i’m standing

i am your dismantled nothing
the dedication page torn
and stained under the heel of your
shoe i am the little
girl staying up too
late for the sake of a
bedtime story tugging at your
heels and asking now? pulling
the covers over one eye
so i can watch everything i love
about you from across the
room, so i can read the books
on your shelf (take any
one you like) so i can kiss
you goodnight and go to sleep
with the curtainfall of your
fingers on my cheek,
unprecedented intimacy closer
than sex closer than kissing
closer than the grip of tendons
locking my bones into
place. i think i love
you more than i
said, which was
(nothing)
which is what i’ve become,
just a
ghost of an

afterthought, every
once in a while
a 1 a.m. text
to say
thinking of
you.

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3 thoughts on “the other side of the doorstep isn’t much better from where i’m standing

    • Thank you. There’s a silly hope in me that this particular piece will somehow find its way to the person who inspired it. But even if that never happens, I’m very happy you enjoyed it.

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      • Ah, yes I definitely know the feels. But they’re usually always watching, whether or not they say it. Which is a scary, and inspiring thing altogether.

        Like

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