The Cities We Live In.

You and I are like the cities we live in.

You, the quaint silence of Bridgeport seaside,

and I, the exhilarating air of New York City.

You might have been a sole light house, across miles

of stones, with rainbows appearing from time to time,

and I know I am an amalgamation of

too many bridges, too many parks,

too many buildings and stories etched by

more people than my heart can hold.

You did warn me that your city

is not the safest to tread at night,

but I am a girl enticed by the moon.

I did warn you about the claustrophobia

my city can cause, but you said

you didn’t mind the crowd.

I was a foolish wanderer,

naive as can be.

And you were indeed,

a fucking fugitive,

running from your sins.

Maybe we found a little bit of home

in each other,

but the wanderer must go on

and the fugitive must hide.

You see, we are like the cities that hold us,

so close, yet so far away,

our storms are still the same;

but I tend to forget,

we’ll always be in two

entirely different states.