We can stick anything into the fogand make it look like a ghostbut tonightlet us not become tragedies.We are not funeral homeswith propane tanks in our windows,lookin’ like cemeteries.Cemeteries are just the Earth’s way of not letting go.Let go.Tonightlet’s turn our silly wrists so far backwardsthe razor blades in our pencil tipscan’t get a good angle on all that beauty inside.Step into thiswith your airplane parts.Move forwardand repeat after me with your heart:“I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.”Make love to melike you know I am betterthan the worst thing I ever did.Go slow.I’m new to this.But I have seen nearly every city from a rooftopwithout jumping.I have realizedthat the moondid not have to be full for us to love it,that we are not tragediesstranded here beneath it,that if my heartreally brokeevery time I fell from loveI’d be able to offer you confetti by now.But hearts don’t break,y’all,they bruise and get better.We were never tragedies.We were emergencies.You call 9 – 1 – 1.Tell them I’m having a fantastic time.
~ Buddy Wakefield
