I’m still sorry about it all. I hope the walls don’t talk about me. I hope the stairwells stopped creaking my name. I know I’ve got a lightning rod spine, and it hurts to stand up for anything anymore, but in my defense, I never did get your letters. The ones where you explain your silence when I asked what your nightmares were about months ago. The ones where you say they were always about losing me. It’s been so long, and I don’t know what Everests are taking your breath away, but I’ll take this feeling and drop it like an avalanche that couldn’t hold on anymore. That is to say I’ll still love you, but now I’ll just do it quietly. Did you know that there’s a place in Istanbul where the light pours in through the mosques and everyone there becomes holy at the same time? I meet you there every time my eyes close. When I check my messages, I listen for your voice first. I’ll miss you always. Come back home when it gets too dark.Y.Z, did you name the ache I left with you? (via rustyvoices)
It’s funny. When you leave your home and wander really far, you always think, ‘I want to go home.’ But then you come home, and of course it’s not the same. You can’t live with it, you can’t live away from it. And it seems like from then on there’s always this yearning for some place that doesn’t exist. I felt that. Still do. I’m never completely at home anywhere.