patch

This morning I wake up smeared across our suburbs, saliva and hands in each others pockets, our pictures on each others walls, a crick neck from this mess of people and bedding. I stumble morningly into your housemates and we share that awkward moment of well meaning and not quite having our people antenna’s on yet. Coffee on the pavement and shoes on. Awake is what they call it but I am fog yawning and stretching. We congregate in lumps of shared coffee and that gentle unsurity about what it means to be who we are and just how to do it.
Later it is sharing food and giggling trying to do headstands on the train, It is chalk and spraypaint and running, it is epic bike rides and rooftop conversations.
And occasionally it is bleeding lips and faces smeared with sadness, arms like thin jumpers wrapped round each other to try and contain a whale of ache. It is jittering limbs and attempts to distract.
Now it is reflection and words for the page and the inevitable rolls out ‘thank you, thank you so much for not letting me go just yet’