Let’s meet halfway, you and I,
without my borrowed burdens, without your naked disguise
in the balmy silence that precedes the hoarse crack in your voice from not being employed,
in the moments that precede the storms in my eyes.
Let me hold your hand in the heaviness of the air right before you fall into sleep,
right before I choke on the words I keep
Halfway in between your sunlight and my ugliness.
© That Girl in the Fray, 2018. All rights reserved.