a poem written on a friday the 13th

a poem written on a friday the 13th

You always seems to get to the horizon,
to the point where you're out of
my sight and far off into the distance.
Right when I'm unable to decipher
your figure from the trees in the distance,
you turn around, and like a boomerang
you come back.

And I'm so willing to jump
into your arms and in your existence
that I forget to remind myself
how many times I've mistook you
for a thing in the past. For some reason I
expect it to be different.
I say I know it's not different ,
but there are only small parts of
me that believe that.

Parts that believe that contrary
to all previous evidence of your
intermittent affection for me,
you'll love me as deeply as I know I need.

But I know your capacity for me,
It's shallow.

You're not shallow yourself,
rather the ability in which you can digest
me into your waters is limited.
I understand that.

But I'm wasn't looking to
wade into loving you.

I was hoping for the chance to dive in.