I just wanted to say I love you
for that night.
For bearing with me as I bore into yur arms
taking in shallow breaths of panic
in the passanger seat of your car
in a murky parking lot I call:
I love you for the mango fruit juice
you let me finish after you
beause I was too weak to eat something that same day
I love you for driving me home,
when home felt like the only place
in that moment of uncertantity and anxiety
I refused to consume those orange pill buds
and have you watch me become
who I was too afraid to show you.
But it was you,
and only you,
sitting down on that
brown, lumpy suken sofa
that helped me realize that there was
nothing to be afraid of anymore.
I am still sorry for that day.
I felt I had wasted your time,
begged for your attention
and nagged for your presense
beause in a blink of an eye,
it is time to hit the road
and go back to the place
that has me hooked on those small pills
to begin with.
Sometimes I think to myself
that you do not care
for me the way I
care for you,
but then I remember that you
would not put up with
what I put down in front of you
if you did not want me back.
The push is easier than the pull,
but I am learning to trust more,
because I love the feeling of believing you when
you tell me you love me.
And I think back to that day,
in the passanger seat of you car
in "Our spot",
when I was detached from myself,
and you reattached me.