Mondays

It rains and rains, but the air is warm, the bar is warmer still. Something about a living room outside your house, something about a place you've earned by building yourself into its foundation. Good things take time, this was always the way. You're too impatient, you're too unchained, you refuse to be relied upon but then here you are, longing for someone to rely on, looking for a soft place to land. You cannot have both. 

Twenty years you've given this city and you still act like you're still considering your options. Twenty years it's been the love of your life and you still panic at the idea of putting down your furniture. It's not an attractive feature, you know it. How shiny it looks from the outside. But how flighty up close, they retract their hands to keep from burning at your flame. 

I just thought we could build the roots in motion. 
Thought time could be what happened while you
were living.