I'm still going through this process, and there's a lot to be discovered. It's a narrow line, but I'm no stranger to discomfort. I've spent nights sleeping on hardwood floors; but nothing compares to the feelings of standing at your door. My drive home has never seemed so long, from front porch steps to my heart that's made of stone. I swore I'd never let you in, but it's evident that I'm slow at getting over this. I've spent nights wide awake, seeing nothing but your face. Shrouded in darkness, and far from unharnessed, my mind begins to race. I remember a lot but I don't know where we met; maybe that's my mind repressing all the shit you left in my head. I've got some growing up to do, but there's so much time for that. The only thing that's growing now is this stack of words, and conscience that I lack. I'm moving forward oh so slowly, but it's something. I'm on my back porch in the rain and your memory's finally fleeting.