Maybe I’m just the horizon you run to when she has left you.
Maybe I’m your cloud, waiting and willing to whisk you away
from all of this suffering, all of your hurt.
Maybe I’m the telephone call in the dead of night
when you have tired of arguing and want out.
Maybe I’m the bandage you wrap around your bruised heart,
after all the sharp words and heavy accusations.
Maybe I’m the breadcrumbs you crumble behind you
so that you’ll find your way home.
But have you ever thought that maybe,
just maybe, I’m also the girl who waits patiently in the corner
for you to notice her, catch her eye and smile.
Maybe I’m the one who runs to the phone,
hoping with each ring that it’s you on the other end.
Maybe I have my own hurts, my own suffering,
and maybe I need someone to heal my heart, too.
Because I’m sick of living on the crumbs of your attention,
and there’s no point in being a horizon if I can’t be your home.
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