Air and Fireplaces

We yearn in quiet rooms
filled with wild voices,
familiarity staring back
while loneliness winds it’s way
around our roots.

Smiles remain real,
as in genuine,
as in true,
yet sad eyes,
those gray blue patches of sorrow
hidden beneath
echo back,
scream my name
as if I’m the only real piece
of the world
left.

And I dream of your arms
or waking up inside them
when I know the last time
was the last time.

The crackle of the fire
and the rain-tipped grass.

It’s like a fucking fairytale
that can’t even possibly
exist alongside
vows
and
rings
and
histories.

Yet.

Yet,
it’s the fantasy
I’ve always wanted,
the reality I thought a dream.

It’s you
and a cabin
and fireplace-mornings,

and I can’t quite
get over
how impossible it all seems
while still feeling
it’s all more right
than air.

~Patience

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