Contemplation (1)

Two years ago, this was my turf. This was the home I only wanted to show you - the playground I wanted to bring you to play in, waiting hours for delayed planes and phone calls and times to leave so I'd pick you up on time and not spend half-hours in Carl Jr.'s parking lots, counting down time.

Two years before that, this was a lonely place full of poetry and pineapple stories and waiting on myself to finally break open the something that was locked up, away, deep inside - waiting to mend back together whatever it was that had broken.

Now, as always, the night is over. And tonight, I go to sleep with you.