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intertext lu mikan janice qiao dawn to reply
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full of things that, had i been plugged into my internet, would have come forth spilling and overflowing in a frenzy to get out, but i wasn't. and instead they swirled and they settled, like dust in a room that has just been torn through by a gust of wind yah they settle and then its still. i walk into this room and leave my footprints and handprints on tables and chairs and everything i touch becomes a memory. goodbye. hello. 3 months of change. 3 months of home and not home. 3 months of love. 3 months of life without you. the challenges are here, upon arriving yesterday and the consequent 24 hours attached to my arrival i have resisted the urge to cry multiple times in the day. its not the same. when you're not lying in your favorite spot by the sunlight, i keep paying attention when i go into the kitchen, so i won't trip over you. i leave food on the table, and look around for fear you'll eat it up and things will happen. i keep imagining the state of excitement you'd be in on moving day. trying to see everything and getting in everyone's way. when i hang up clothing to dry, you seem to be sitting there, watchfully hoping it's a trip to the food bag. and when the door opens there is no mad scrambling on the stairs. i miss you i miss you i miss you. did you know that people aren't the only things a heart can feel connected to? maybe it sounds foolish, but i lost a bit of me when i lost you. -- those words you said through not saying, they echo in my head. i will be strong, be better, be beautiful but the trip alone, oh the trip alone... i guess the thing with love is, it fills up the empty spaces, even when sent from far away and so i'm not really alone. love fills it. Your love, your love. is this an indication to let go or to hold on and wait? this is the trouble with having to leave home, to go home. dear heart, your capacity to love so much at once astounds me.
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