You always tell me I’m a wanderer, you’ve told me I can’t keep resting my feet at strangers houses.
I tell you I know them, but you know better. You know me well. I know something about nothing when someone says ‘I love reading’ the first thing I do is shift them into a person I used to have, the person I could exchange books with.
I automatically think I’ve figured them out, it’s so wrong of me. The second they mention partying or they don’t enjoy the same music as me, I’ll distance myself. I’ll leave.
I’ll run away because the beds not warm enough or their kisses don’t feel the same, it’s scares me.
Because that’s different, that’s not the person I used to have. I came here to feel at home, not rebuild.
I came over here to start again, not to start over.
That’s probably why I never stay because I never know them like I wanted to think I did. I think I did because my mind can so easily make them into a person I lost in the past. I’m so good with words that I can talk myself into thinking that I have found the person I lost, in this new person I found when they really have no resemblance. I can’t keep looking for you in people.
I’m able to fall in love of the idea of someone, it’s falling in love with the actual person that takes months and years. Maybe someone who is doing the same thing to me, maybe they see me as someone that they love that isn’t around anymore and they are using me just to fill her void and I don’t think I mind that. Maybe I’m just someone’s filler and I only break someone vicariously and my hands never get blood on them.
Maybe it’s a good thing.
But it’s true.
I can’t keep pretending to be homeless when my house is only 5 minutes away.
I can’t just find another because a crack is on the walls of my room.
I can’t keep doing this to people