I Wrote This For You

But what keeps me warm is the idea that when we are born, we are taken apart from the universe, and when we die, we return to it. And I believe I know what that feels like, where you’ve come from and where you will go. It feels like the space between the hug you give someone you love, whether that’s a parent or a child, or sibling or a friend. I think that feeling we feel when we do that, is the feeling of some small part of us, knowing another part of it is near. And I believe forever feels like that small space between us. 
 

I looked up from what I was doing

and saw you in the park, and asked you

who you were waiting for

and you turned and as you turned

we found ourselves at our wedding

and I turned to you to say,

"Wait, what-"

and you turned to me and we were in a house

with pictures of us on the walls and I turned to you

and you said

"Who are you?" and I said

"Who am I? Who are you and what's going on-"

and you turned to me and our children

ran past us and the girl held onto my legs, laughing

and you turned to me and

my back began to ache and I caught the reflection of myself

in the mirror and my hair was starting to grey and I

turned to you and you had tears in your eyes

and you said, "Stop, please, stop," and I held your hand

and said, "I'm sorry, this isn't me, I'm not doing this -" and you

turned to me, at our boy's graduation and rested your head

against my shoulder and said, "How is this happening?" and I could not answer

but your head felt good against my shoulder, even if

it was my mother's funeral and I

turned to you in the empty house while we waited for one of them to call

and said, "If I had known, I would never have-" and you turned to me

as I turned to you

as you turned to me in the hospital bed, holding my hand

holding your hand, you turned to me and I turned to you

and I bent my head down and kissed you

and kissed you

and kissed you

for what will always feel

like the first time

and I turned to you.

If you’re alone, I am alone with you.

If you’re scared, I am scared with you.

If you need hope, I hope with you.

And I am everyone. And you are everyone. And we are all everyone we can be, in the moments we are given, in this time that we are tested.

You took my tongue, and so I wrote about love.

There’s room in a starlit hotel for the people you miss tonight.

(I didn’t want to be good, I just wanted to be here.)

So you touch the star that only you can touch and cause the fuss that only you can cause.

(I am making things that don’t need to be made, to be sold to people that don’t need to be sold anything, anymore.)

And If you hold me I swear, I won’t shake too bad, I’ll try and be a little more calm.

(But I’m burning inside, just like the sky.)

What’s good, isn’t great, and who are you pretending to miss tonight?

(There’s no one and nothing left to cry about, so why don’t you go ahead and cry a little more about yourself.)

Some empty part of me heard you knocking from the other side of the universe, and I answered.