To drape you over me

Your warmth is akin to a slow morphine drip. Your presence eases the overwhelming pain of my own self. I don’t like needles but I don’t mind when you stick yours in my arm. You are the horizon line after months of traveling a barren flat desert. Show me the way.

I am not content when you’re not around, but I wouldn’t tell you that right now. Be cool. Be cool. Stay the course and stay true. I hear your voice in my head throughout the day. I hear your soft words and the naive punctuality they bear. I’m not going to be a fool for you. And you don’t turn me into one, so fair is fair.

But trouble is coming due to my inclination to ruin anything good at this stage of my life. I won’t compare you to anyone, but even wrapped in your warmth I feel lonely. Though, when you leave to use the bathroom or get something from the kitchen I am back on the front lines. I don’t want you to go anywhere. Stay in the imprint we’ve made on my cheap foam mattress pad. Call me a dozen times throughout the day. Tell me you can’t stand a night away from me. Tell me you want more from me.

Don’t wipe the tear that rolls down your cheek when I tell you I refuse to love bomb you. That is not healthy. I am not healthy. I fear the worst. I know I will hurt you. Because I keep hurting people I don’t mean to hurt and it is killing me. It’s why you say you don’t feel close to me. Why you say I am cold and distant. Maybe me withholding is doing more harm than good. Maybe I shouldn’t decide for you how I hurt you.

I have an overflowing ocean of love to drown in with you. But I can’t bring myself to set sail. I feel for you and I fear for me. If I tell you how I feel and surround you with promises, I am certain it will only accelerate the inevitable demise I am destined to shipwreck upon you.

Most days, I wish I could go somewhere and never resurface. I wish I could smoke a pipe on an empty front porch, not seeing anyone for months on end. Chop firewood and hunt for food. Draw water from a well, read books and write great things. I don’t need anything or anyone. Once I turned my heart to stone, it begrudgingly became impenetrable.

But for now, you lay here with me. And I’ll lay with you. We can talk about sitcoms and death. You bend you legs over me, pressing closer than anyone has managed to get before. You wrap you arms and melt into me. You smell like an apple orchard.

But I am no one. Nowhere.

You are in tangled up with a ghost.

I’m sorry.

Everyday I hope I never hear from you again.

But please—don’t stop trying, love.

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