Night descends and the street lamps cast their shadows
in the silence of a deserted road.
I walk along, trace the trail of my breath,
and shove my gloved hands back into my coat pockets.

I’ve been walking around for so long.
I don’t want to miss the turn…

There are still some things I want to hide;
a reflex born of experience,
it almost feels like instinct.
The weight of experience has made it 
hard to separate the need to suit in armor
from the greater pull to open a door.

My heart still beats because I’ve learned to survive.
Yet there’s always been something about you,
something that’s made me wonder 
how strong my heart could trill when alive.
The danger wouldn’t be a fire that scalds the surface, 
but a fire that sparks slowly, internally, 
and engulfs me surely and entirely.

There are still some things I have to untangle
before I’m certain that opening myself up
isn’t the same as being caught up in you. 
Until you, I didn’t understand how it was possible 
to long for something and not want it at the same time.
Years and distance have not tempered the feeling
nor offered any clarity to salve the sting.

There is so much to break down.
I am still in the process of rebuilding
and struggle to put words 
to something so vexingly potent and indescribable.
To name the feeling of wanting 
to trust that it’s hope, and not myopia.
To know what I’m reaching for is healthy 
and not a familiar strain of loneliness with company.

There are many things that I’d like to tell you,
more still that I’d like to do.
I think I am on my way to getting there.
My heart arrived long ago,
but somehow life hasn’t.
It’s hard to say what happened—
a fission in time I did not notice
that’s left me out of sequence,
existing outside of context.

There are so many paths yet to wander,
chances to take in the possibilities beyond my window,
like the sharp and pleasant contrast of a chill in the air
after so long melting beneath an unforgiving sun.  
A chance at your change of scenery;
an opportunity for mine.