Get Away

I only love in hindsight
long after all is said and done
but you can’t look back without distance
so I’m always on the run

At twenty-six, milestones are no longer laid out 
to mark your way: they’re yours to place
You’ve taxied past drinking and gambling and car rentals 
but there’s no more runway and “What’s going on with you?” 
sounds a lot like “You should be flying by now”

So I did fly, to Melbourne, to Carly Rae Jepsen
to my patented brand of quiet abandon
disguised as the ultimate grown-up treat:
a weekend away, to sing, sleep, and eat

My step count passes 30,000 on Flinders Street and
I’ve been having moderate success on Grindr and
I’m on my ninth listen through Carly’s setlist
(I’ve always been better at studying the things I already know)

Your questions can’t catch me if I’m always on the move
Like the muted heat from this autumn sun, they need time and stillness to take hold
I can’t stop the sweat though, no matter what I do
I wish you’d understand: I can’t see your concern as love unless it’s
over my shoulder, in the rear-view mirror, shrinking into the horizon

Why is it so romantic to run away with someone and yet so pathetic to simply run away?