It's the collection of half-empty glasses on my bedside table
The photos that never turn out just right
The words that consistently come out all wrong
The list of things to do that never gets finished or even started
I don't know where to begin
because I don't know how I want to end
It's the hours I spend learning information
that brings me further and further away from what I will become
It's the fact that I'm running away from myself
while standing in place
It's that what I love the most is what scares me the most.
I love loving. I love being loved.
Yet I hide in the doorway, holding my breath
Until it's walked just far away enough for me to move again
The street is dark, the concrete, damp
I can see my breath
It lingers in the air until it's stale
Like the whispers that take place
when I'm just far away enough to hear
The warmth of your skin
It's enough to melt the cold
I'm racing, chasing myself
But I don't know where I'm going
Because I don't know where I'll end up.