My Inspiration for this Space

what sort of work do i have hidden away that compares to you and your beauty?
what sort of lies can i make into truths today.

i thought that i was something, someone hidden behind this rubble i call home.
i thought there was someone somewhere that knew where i was coming from.
the air in this room is heavy,
and it holds me under sheets long after you are gone.
it holds me in positions i once saw you in,
curled and calm, sprawled and grabbing,
and i've never slept so well since you slept beside me here.
(i've never slept so well).
and today in the heat, under the weight of it all
i slept and i dreamt of things that have never happened,
of things that i don't ever want to happen.
you pouring things on me, and then leaving,
right after life was perfect.
and you have poured yourself on me since the second that we met,
and i have appreciated your goodness
and your catering to my needs
and your calling this a beautiful day,
and me thinking it while you said it.
and i have forgotten you the second you have left.
but now you are here whether i am or not,
and you have no intention of leaving, at least not for the next couple of months
(though you told me once that you missed living out your dreams);
and i have every intention of making this last,
even if it is just me making goodness out of lies again.

i don't want to be you, i swear, but there are things that you are that i am too;
there are places you have been that i have experienced;
there are words on your pages that i know are on my own.
how do i compare to you,
(you and of course your beauty).