You’ve stayed with me,
longer than I thought
you would.
I’m not used to having
someone this close.
In this small space we
cannot hide from each other.
I can hear every sound,
every breath, every murmur
or scream.
Things became intimate
because I saw places
that are usually hidden,
when you reached father
because you wanted
to fix something,
that had been left broken,
for too long,
far too long.
At first it was uncomfortable,
unfamiliar, and you didn’t
seem to speak the same
language,
but then I learned your
vocabulary.
After so many hours,
so, so many hours,
you became as much as fixture
in my apartment,
as the kitchen sink.
Just as it finally became comfortable,
you left. Never to be seen again?
Or just until next time?
I just say to myself, damn,
why the hell did it take
5 and a half hours to fix…
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dontclickthisshit 