Short On Solar
I never believed that heartache could be so excruciating, to tell you the truth. There's a hole in my chest where my heart should be, a hole riddled with scattered words of both denial and proclamation that fell from my weakest muscle's embrace as you tore it away from safety within the confines of brittle bones pretending to be sturdy. I've spent years upon years refusing to admit that your love has taken a toll on me, and with such adamant dissent I have become a seasoned liar. I've refused to put you back together when you've broken at the fault of my own hands, I've abstained from filling the space beside you in a bed so large that it serves no immediate purpose aside from reminding you that you're without the half that makes you whole. I've watched stinging tears burn scars into your cheeks without so much as taking them on as my own, I've allowed others to turn you from ruins to dust in fear that offering my assistance and solace would leave you attached. No, I never asked for this. I never looked to the sky overhead during seasons that left heavy clouds of grey to block the sun in hopes of receiving the solar I was short on. I never turned to you in the dead of sleepless nights seeking comfort, though the times it has crossed my mind are countless and unheard of. My reasoning behind stealing away items of your clothing was never for the purpose of vanity—no, my reasoning was instead selfish buckling beneath the need to feel your second skin against me without guilt that comes hand in hand with the knowledge that I crave you closer than has been deemed appropriate. I've spent endless hours toying with my own fingers in hopes of my vivid imagination carrying me far enough to believe they are yours, taking my own tongue over my own lips in moments I'm desperate to know the taste of your rose petal kiss. I wish I could blind myself to those enticing curves that take to your sides like tides of the ocean on a mid-summer afternoon, calling for my hands to surf their waves in exploration of something tangible. Tangible, that's all I want. A piece of you to take away for safe keeping, a piece of love to hold in my hands when the weather outside has left my fingers painfully numb. A piece of your heart to replace the chunk of my own that I gave up to you so willingly without knowledge the moment fate's red string took us in its binding. This is everything. You are everything.
The night sky overhead changes if only to allow the moon's spotlight to fall upon your figure, bestowing the attention of every living thing on you. I am a moth drawn into your light like the fuel to encourage fire; you are the star that guides me blindly in the dark. You are the manifestation of all things enchanting and spellbinding that leaves me dizzy with longing. You are both the comfort that embraces me in the unfamiliarity of shadows and the shadows that defend me from unfamiliarity. You are every part of me that ceased to exist upon creation, every perfection and flawless attribute in one. You are the clasp that keeps me from crumbling and the will that drives me forward. I am the sailor on your ocean, lost at sea with no intention of returning to land.
I replace your pillow with my own each night only to switch them come morning, spending an extra hour or two in my cot across from yours inhaling the scent you've left against my pillowcase. I pull the curtain of my bunk open just enough to watch you dream as the sound of tires against pavement carries us further and further from home. I envy your sheets that provide the only familiar comfort on the road, wondering what it must be like to be coated in your relief. And while tonight is nothing special in comparison to the nights that came before, I hope that my sudden courage (that is nothing more than pent up need) will change the path and routine of the nights to come after as I lift myself from the embrace of my cot to find my way into yours. It's small, though only provides me with more reason to close the distance between our kindred spirits desperate for reunion. My arms take on the job of your comforters, wrapping you in the warmth that your body alone cannot provide. I can feel you tense momentarily before you gaze over your shoulder with sleepy eyes, a brow raised more so curiously than defensively. I wonder for a moment if you can feel the pace of my heart picking up against the space between your shoulder blades, seeking out its missing piece within your frame slightly smaller than my own. But as if this were normal routine, you return to your previous position, hand snaking downwards to cover mine that has taken a place against your waist, our fingers interlocking like a one of a kind security system. I don't know that I'll ever be able to hold you without shaking, truthfully. Nor do I know if I'll ever be capable of loving you to the extent that I do without aching. But I'll take this. I'll take you. Because this is everything. And you are everything.