"Who knew people could be sunlight." (a poem for you)

Here is a poem about love.

(Are you surprised? Are you reeling in shock? No—you are a romantic, after all, otherwise you wouldn't still be here listening to my ridiculous, sentimental words. Thank you, by the way, for that.)

It is also a poem about destruction & sadness & waiting & mythos. & it is a poem about healing. & music. All things, after all, are about music.

Today I stayed home from school because my hyperacusis was so bad. It’s the first time I have done that in a while, & to be honest I am slightly sad about it. But while I was here I wrote you a poem. I am not sure yet whether I like it, but I hope you do.

As always, I would so love to hear your thoughts.

& please have a beautiful weekend. I think you deserve that.



& I could’ve kissed you. Right there, you with
that dance & me with the look on my face that says
goddamn. Who knew people could be sunlight.

Add that to the things I’ve learned while trying & failing to
wrestle this year into submission:

one, a body is a prayer, not a temple.
Two, is it really so selfish to want to be
the one thing you’ll never say out loud?
Three, the closet/the humming box/the things
that come out of both of them.
Four, yes, you idiot, of course I’m in love with you.

How many times do I have to tell you before you pick up
the goddamn phone?

So me, I’m over here choking myself to sleep and you, you’re
busy kissing all the tornadoes in Kansas good night.
Like there’s anything more mutual than waiting.
Like there’s anything left, except for maybe everything.

Telephone cord dangling like something burnt to death,
the closet/the humming box/the things that are best left closed.

Me with the look on my face that says
goddamn. It’s been a long year.

Me with the look on my face that says
goddamn. Just look at that,

darling. Just look at you dance.