and every single one of us,
whether we think it or not,
we are traveling through life
looking for the answer.
If you ever find me unpacking my suitcase again,
please ask me something else.
“Where have you been?”
“How are you feeling?”
“What color is the sky after you move on from a love like ours?”
I’m begging you,
don’t ask me why I’m coming back.
I couldn’t tell you.
I keep hearing,
“Only time will tell.”
as the only answer to this question.
And i’m using the hands on my watch
to try and touch you.
Birds float by in the wind in the shape of a V,
mimicking the top of the peach colored shirt
I can almost see you wearing,
and I wonder why
I can never sing back to them
in a voice big enough for them to hear me.
I wonder if my suitcase knows the way to your doorstep,
but I’m too busy buying plane tickets to France to notice.
I wonder if your suitcase has ever been unpacked.
If you ever let your toothpaste
end up in someone else’s bathroom.
Or are you always running away in the moonlight?
Trying to find a new place
to set your suitcase down.
Falling to your knees in the snow each night.
Praying to God you find someone to love
who doesn’t make you feel inferior.
The last time my suitcase and I both became empty
was when he came and held it open,
letting my skirts and dresses fall to the floor.
He said “promise you won’t leave me.”
and I did.
I’ve always hated packing anyway.
But one day
I found my nail polish
hidden in the linen closet.
And wondered how often “I do.”
I hated staying more than I hated packing.
I watched the sun’s illumination through the window
and thought about the way
I’d never have to see the dumb smirk
you’d always have
when I got an answer wrong on the crossword.
And how I would never wear your ring.
I thought about how the bed only creaked on my side,
making me feel
like I was a guest in a stranger’s home.
I thought about waking up at 2am with nightmares
about never doing anything
but loving you.
I wrote “I can’t. I’m sorry.” on a napkin,
gathered my belongings,
and walked away
with my freedom and her bracelet.
Backpack, stilettos, and guitar in hand.
So here I am,
gripping onto nothing but my freedom
and the absence of your eyes
locked with mine,
So much for my knight in shining armor.
I’m starting to think maybe birds never sing,
just cry out in heartache.
And maybe nightmares are more realistic than consciousness,
Maybe love is a question best answered with nothing at all.