these chipped bones may not be much but they're yours if you want themMature

I do not want to be missing you in ten years, in twenty; I do not want to be forever sleeping with ghosts.
I have hollowed out my bones like bird bones, hoping you could make a nest in me that will keep you safe and warm when the autumn comes and makes you want to fly south.
I do not want to be a pair of searching hands in the darkness for the rest of my life, my palms cupped around air and space.
I have made of my rib cage a cottage for you to dwell in, my lungs will be your bed and my heart can be your hearth and we will wait out the winter chill here, where it cannot reach.
We are not wild things; we are tamed and docile and eager to be fed and loved and spend our afternoons in pools of sunlight, content to be contented; but there are old things inside of us.
I do not want you to leave me empty like an abandoned house, filled only with the things you thought yourself better off without.

The End

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