Ache

Maybe attempting to understand the beautiful but foreign language written across our hearts is where we’ve gone wrong. We could be meant to leave it alone, not meant to explore the tugging in our chests we feel repetitively each night. It’s like trying to make out shapes in the dark, but a warm darkness, like a summer night when you’re outside and not alone. Home can be everywhere, but I only feel it with you. I think you’re brave and I want to feel brave too. I don’t feel anything when most people are around; no presence, no life, no curiosity. But I’m curious. I’m beginning to understand that curiosity leads to a warm, contented torment. I wonder, and my sense of what is concrete crumbles. When you feel the weight of tears creeping under your eyelids; the tugging, every night while your eyes are wide; the pain in everyone’s eyes, half hidden and ancient; then you know.

This didn’t begin with us, and it won’t end with us.