thisisalladream

i have forever been in a state of coming and going.

constantly having one foot in the door and one stepping just outside the threshold. saying hello with a smile, kiss on the cheek, the whispering goodbye in the opposite ear.

you would think that this glaring fact of my life, this repetitive state i find myself in, would make my heart ache. it does. would make me long to stay in one place long enough to establish some sort of solid ground or connection, often time it does. but i have been this way for ages now, i've become quite accustom to never really unpacking my bags, sleeping on couches with foreign pillows and blankets to resemble some kind of comfort, sharing small squares of beds with friends when floor space wasn't plentiful enough, figuring out how to work the shower nozzle since that seems to be drastically different in everyone's place.

it goes by in a series of blurs and shining moments. a stolen moment here, next to this spot that i'll always remember. a city street that glows ever so slightly from the angle of the sun and building surrounding it that we walked down one evening as you told me how you wanted to proceed, a corner just feet from a stop sign where we sat arm to arm laughing at the awkward shirts of the girls on the street. that smile you give me each and every time i see you, unwavering and always constant. the light that shone in on your room as we slept deep into the afternoon much to the chagrin of your neighbors and the chanters in the park down the street.

it's truly moments like those that make me forget the goodbyes or the way my stomach seems to drop as we pull past the cityscape and are enveloped in sunlight from the open skies on the highway. it never gets easier though, in fact i think it makes my heart develop hairline fractures each time i pass the toll booth just outside of town, this comes with the territory however. i have come to know this and accept it in my own little way. besides, each time we turn that corner just past exit number 5b those little lines fill up ever so slightly with the promise that soon, yes very soon, i'm simply waiting to drop this anchor and finally be able to call a place home yet again.

this time, it'll stick.