After fights with him,
I seek comfort in
used bookstores,
surrounded by
peeling book spines,
the words of ghosts, and
the whisper of turned pages.
The stories of people
who have it worse than I do.
He seeks comfort in
neighborhood bars
surrounded by
peeling beer labels,
the laughter of drunks, and
the whisper of stale pick-up lines.
The stories of people
who have it worse than he does.
Until we meet back home
and seek comfort in
each other,
surrounded by
peeling wallpaper,
the promises of tomorrow, and
the whisper of apologies.
The story of two people
who have it better than most.