how my heart gets torn

the sky holds off, the south clear and the north west more than a bit shaky.

i'm feeling flat. fancy going out? we'll pack random bits of cheese, smoked meat, vegetables and wine in my backpack and take the bikes, heading north. i'll leave my shoes where we abandon the bikes, letting the cold mud that still holds the chill of those past dead months seep through my toes. when we finally see the ruins peeking through the leaves, i'll direct you a little to the right, and we'll twirl down a staircase that is red and both horrific and mesmerizing all at once. you'll laugh at how i get dizzy, my hand clutching the railing a little too tight, a little too often. when we finally break the cover of the trees, the sight of the water will force both of us to inhale- and to subsequently forget to exhale.

after the cheese and smoked meat and vegetables and wine i'll tell you secrets about this past year. you'll let a smile creep past your teeth and without words will tell me that you understand exactly.

it'll take us three hours to retrace our steps, find my shoes, and make our way back to my house. when you refuse to stay for dinner, instead opting to chase those calm southern skies, i promise to understand.

i'll still be where you left me when the moon slips across the top of the roof, stars singing softly in the summer breeze.