grilled cheese

I'll take your hand any day to lead and show me to everywhere you'd like, show me the area under the bridge that we walked to countless times, where the homeless man lies each night because like me, before you, is a wanderer. By next month he'll have moved on, physically and mentally, the scars aching on his body will not have healed but he will not feel them; for the old wanderer feels nothing anymore. He has no guide, no home, and no family. Everything he could inject into himself is lost within his empty stomach and bloodstream, his bones on the outside. I'm glad to not be as lost as him, i'm glad to be fed each time I find myself in your house, a place I just always seem to open my eyes to. It's as if my feet push myself there. But it is not only they, as I sit on the bleacher peeling away the skin of an orange at every practice, I feel the bittersweet citrus hitting my tongue, and it's nowhere near as good as everything you've made me on those burnt old pans. I seem to not only find my feet at your door, but my mind on you, and my eyes cannot help but see you in only the purest form, as deep as your soul goes. The rich dirt found on the ground of this beautiful planet is within your eyes, I see the tree's bark that gives us oxygen, that gives us life. But I could go without that. I'd suffocate to only breath the air you exfoliate from your lungs. I'd give anything, for you give me life. As our faces draw near the ocean and ground collide, two separate worlds, we hold each other tight, and words that don't need spoken are interchanged. I'm found with you. You've found each weakness and secret my body has to hold; worry free of judgement. How could a soul be as nice as yours? especially to one like mine. Take my hand any day, i'll not just tell, but I promise to show you everything you ever needed.

Do you think, Jesus, son of a carpenter, smelled the wood of the cross and thought of home?

and did Mary know, that not only would her womb bring life, but be the grave of her own child?

The supermarket.

In ten years' time, I'll see you in the supermarket.

and you will be buying apples, I will be buying oranges,

and we will ask each other how we've been.

You will look at my left hand, and I will look for baby formula in your basket.

We will tell each other it's been a while.

One will say, 'I've missed you', and the other will agree.

Both will laugh and say it's about time we met in a supermarket.

We will pay using separate cards, at separate registers,

and the fruit will rot in separate bowls.

The zest will dull, and the jealousy will stagnate, and you will buy oranges next time.

I will buy my children apples, but everyone will be on their own.

We won't see each other ever again.

Every time one of us is in the supermarket, they will hope to find the other,

But it was our last time seeing each other.

In ten years' time, I will still miss you, and you will still love me.