he stays in this one

    everytime i write about a love, they seemingly disappear shortly after… but he stays in this one.
i know that last time i wrote about the one who laid with his hands in my hair brushing out all the thoughts that clouded my mind.
he laid with me as i watched the old memories wash away with the waves of the lake we visited often.
he rose for sunrises for me, without complaining.
-yet he also vanished when my pen hit paper… he was only another addition to the pattern i noticed to keep occuring.
but he stays in this one-
although i haven’t found him yet i know that when i write with my hands shaking he’ll still be there.
that even though all the others left when they turned to poetry he won’t-
he would never promise he’s not going anywhere because that thought never crossed his mind to even disregard.
he won’t be all smiles and sunshine, he’ll see the skies open up and pour.
he’ll hear the thunder crackle the same way the fire does in my chest when something sets a fire inside me. and though he won’t be able to stop the floods, nor will he know how to put out the fires, my God he’ll try.
because, he stays in this one. he really stays.