Our Little Cupboards

“I know. I know we keep too many things. I know we keep too many things without knowing we’ve stored them away deep in a pitch black corner. That we don’t do it to keep them but just to know they existed. I know you kept things, things I might never see. Maybe I have too. I think we all have that tiny cupboard full of tiny things that are really the big things. The biggest things.”

“If you know that, why do you want them?”

“Because, I never want to be a tiny thing in your tiny cupboard, pretending not to be the big thing. The biggest thing. I never want to be shoved into the pitch black corner. I will take every tiny thing you have and I will adore it. All of them. Even the broken ones. Even the lost ones. Even the hidden ones. I want all of them.”Image

The Last String

Today, I cut my last string to you.

A string I always thought could never be cut, ripped, broken, torn. I never thought of it as a string, in fact. Instead it was an iron mast, strong and sturdy, comparable to one that held up bridges or maybe skyscrapers. Thought it to be strong enough to hold thousands of tons of concrete, materials thrown together to play an unquestioned piece of someone’s life. I thought it was an iron mast, or maybe a steel track, guiding the longest of paths without a doubt in a conductor’s mind.

As I am with many things, I was wrong. Today I cut my last string to you. Just like a puppet, I needed that string. Thought I needed it to hold me up, keep me ready for my next move, needed it to be who I was when I was with you: dependent and waiting for you.

I cut it. I fell. I fell the way a glass of water falls when you aren’t paying attention and you put it down and think that it can still make it, it just landed at a weird angle, but it doesn’t: it falls. It splashes, it pours and all you can do is try and grab it and hope you can still catch the rest of what was left in the glass.

I caught the glass and it turns out there’s still some water left inside. Water ready to be drunken when a sturdier hand is its master. Ready, when it won’t be poured out, but drunken with the intention of acknowledgement, not accident.

Today, I cut my last string to you. Now I know it wasn’t an iron mast, it wasn’t the steel tracks trusted for a trusted way home. It was a string, just a simple string. Who knew it was just a flimsy string?

New Lover

I can’t pretend that all is well, it’s like I’m haunted by a ghost
There are times I cannot speak your name for the catchin’ in my throat,
There are things I will not sing for the sting of sour notes.

I feel like a miser, I feel low and mean
For accusing you of stealin’ what I offered you for free.
Still it baffles the belief sometimes what thieves we lovers be.

I’ve got a new lover now, I know that she’s not mine,
I only want to hold her, I don’t need to read her mind,
And she only looks like you when she’s in a certain light.

I got a new lover now, she knows just what I need.
When I wake up in the night, she can read me back my dreams,
And she loves them, though she never needs to tell me what they mean.

I hope you’ve got a lover now, hope you’ve got somebody who
Can give you what you need like I couldn’t seem to do.
But if you’re sad and you are lonesome and you’ve got nobody true,
I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me happy too.
I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me happy too.