Nostalgia waxes poetic
But this thing. This thing, words without rhythm
Still on the page.
I’m still tap tapping along
Still rap rapping along
Even at the places where I know you hear my voice breaking.
There’s something to be said for familiarity
The comfort of someone knowing
Your ins and outs
And ins
And still deciding to love you anyway
Or whatever the fuck one might call it.
This is all wrong.
The timing.
The whole fucking collusion.
But look over here at where I’m standing
And tell me it isn’t the intersection
Of now and then. Of you and I.
I don’t know what I’m doing, duh.
I only know you remind me of home
And I’ve never had one of those.
More accurately, it feels like what I always thought home might feel like.
What would I know about it though?
I’m not the woman you take home.
I’m the woman you take everything from.
I practiced throwing myself into the abyss today
Screaming all the way to the bottom
Dramatically
Because the situation merits it
Not because I felt the urge to do so.
Certainly, there’s something to be said for familiarity
For someone who feels like home.
It just hits different. Like the bottom of the abyss.
Hits hard enough to take your will to claw out.