The Tip of My Tongue

One

I wake up building ancient cities in my head, pulling strands from the sun into my fingertips and enlivening the universe. I wake up with sand in my eyes and dust drifting in beams of light, things falling out of balance and into place. I wake up to the most beautiful sunrise I've ever seen. (I'm pretty sure I imagined it.) I wake up with brilliance today, and I may never go back to sleep. Everything I've ever wanted is on the tip of my tongue, the tip of my tongue, the tip of my tongue, so close I can taste it. I wake up to my future built with stardust in the night and the only thing missing is you. I wake up with the emotional nausea that accompanies distance, that nests comfortably in your body, tying your stomach in knots and erecting tombs in your chest, when your other half is an image, a thought not capable of steering you by your shoulders. I wake up with this emotional nausea, and I drink a glass of water, and I shower, and I maybe cry a little (because water is the cleansing cure for everything, and I rinse myself at least twice daily), and I am okay. Because the light in my room looks gentle, like the sun is holding me, cradling my body in its rays and handing me off to the room as my day settles and I drift into sleep.

Two

I am comforted enough by this cradle, by your voice in my ear and your perspective in my head. I am safe. I am free with you to build myself, just as free as I was without you. I am free to be myself, to quiet and scream my joys at any point. You pick up on the sensitive things, the intimacies that people cradle close to their chest and protect like a prayer, gentle and sacred. Our future is so close I can taste it, I can taste it, I can taste it on the tip of my tongue. I am comforted by the sound of my watch tick, tick, ticking in my ear because I know I am moving forward; I know I am closer than ever to myself, to the castle of my love and my ambition, to building myself, my future, outside of my head and grounded in reality. I am comforted by the pastel colors of my bedding and the thousands upon thousands of unread pages on shelves and in boxes and hidden in drawers and under beds. I am comforted by the thousands of blank pages that I get to fill one day with the help of the sun in my veins and the moon in my lungs and you in my head. I am comforted by these ancient cities I am building in my head, sturdy and magnificent.

(I love, I love, I love.)