This room is as new as bloodied knees
this room as green carpets
that I have never pretended are grass
this is not the room that's floors
I once lay on, watching the yard flood
as storms obscured the skies,
watching paint fall in the corners,
writing secret notes in crayon.

The small but bright tunnel,
where my eyes told stories on the walls,
while I waited for it all to come true

Until I shed that place,
my arms had to hang out the window,
I had drunk a growth potion,
maybe when I was ten.

This room is big enough for one,
but not two.
This room has seen what happens when
two people collide
and then part, like ocean currents
like planets ceasing to be

but the walls are covered with me,
pieces of me hang from the ceiling,
no room for dreams of stars and giants,
the giants we will become.