power’s out

Here’s what I think: my heart has stretched because I’ve asked it to. But will it ever lose the shape of you? Will you ever not be the default, the automatic, the most comfortable? Is my heart not holding the merest of hopes, the smallest of candles tucked away? For the original future I envisioned before I knew what kind of trials love actually brings? When I was young and innocent and could have used that to our advantage, committed before we really knew what we were committing to? Or is it just the nostalgia talking, this city where every square inch reminds me of you? The purity of first-love naïveté I’ll never get back? Is the reason I keep getting it wrong because I already had it right?