I’m afraid that I am losing all of my people. They go and
I stay. Nothing seems quite right where I am. Do I want to bring others that I
love inside? It’s not about me, I know. But it sure makes me feel. It sure
makes me sad when my people leave. I’m trying to think… But you’re the one that
I come to. You’re the one that I love to listen to about boys and stupid shit
like alcohol and Jesus. You make me mad and happy and you make me laugh and you’re
the one that I come to when I need to feel good about myself. When I need to
feel bad about myself. I don’t want you to leave. I am bad at staying in touch.
Because I need to touch. As the planes take off and land and stop for gas and
load and unload packages and passengers, I’m holding tightly to my skin, afraid
to grow an inch. I’m afraid to move on. Moving on means losing. One door opens
and another one closes, but what if I stand in the doorway for too long?
