Far From Here

I’ve been trying so hard
to be someone I can live with.
But some days
the skin I’m wearing feels borrowed,
and the heart inside it
beats like it wants out.

Everyone says I seem fine.
But that just means
I’ve learned how to look okay
long enough to get through the conversation.

Nights are different.
Nights know me.
Nights hear the things I don’t say.

So I drink.
Not to numb.
Not to forget.
Just to soften the edges
of the person I can’t get away from.

I don’t want to die.
I really don’t.
I just want to disappear
somewhere quiet
where no one needs anything from me, not even myself.

Maybe Mars.
Maybe another city.
Maybe just a version of me
that doesn’t feel like I’m constantly
trying to hold the ceiling up
with my bare hands.

If I go,
I don’t want it to be dramatic.
No grand exit.
No goodbye.

Just a gentle leaving,
like a song fading out
instead of ending.

And maybe one day
I’ll come back.
A little lighter.
A little softer.

Someone I can stay with
without running.