i decided yesterday that i was making this too complicated,
but in typical hesitant fashion i am only acting now.
i am tired of the way my heart swings heavy
and i am tired of living a cliche and mentioning your name
to thousands in darkened crowded rooms and receiving no answer.
i can’t imagine that i would have gotten this so wrong,
but i stand alone on a spotlit stage with no-one reaching up to join me.
this is the end of you coursing through my veins like memories,
a long dropped drug use that keeps
trying to come back. i am tired of staying in
four months ago when i don’t even know if you remember
what my fingers felt like. the fit wasn’t perfect anyway,
like the folds and curves of my fingers weren’t made to grasp
i shouldn’t be sitting here in this room hyper-aware
of your presence two walls over and my ears shouldn’t be
this attuned to the sound of your laughter. all of these things and more
shouldn’t be. but i am packing up my things and
closing the door. and it’s not a banishment from my heart,
but it’s a start and i have to keep moving forward.
i am a subtle slip of dying winter light in your rearview
but tomorrow i will be the frost that freezes your fingertips to the door.
i will bite and then warm to your touch
and drip off as we move on.