By The Book

A prelude to our love.

Coincidence and apathy turns to desire and “I need you.”

Autumn turns to Winter and the fire feels so right under our fingertips, doesn’t it?

Your smile is still all there. My heart still beats. The snow still falls.

Things are good and we haven’t quite yet gotten to the part where you couldn’t do anything but lie through your teeth.

Spring arrives and I leave for 2 months and you go seemingly unfazed. The flowers are beautiful and every sunset reminds me of you.

Spring turns into summer and you decide to give me another chance, a real one this time.

And before summer even gets its chance to shine, I’ve messed everything up. And I’m sorry.

But “sorry” is a word you don’t want to hear from me anymore. You say it’s started to sound like a confession, like I’m on trial and you’re the judge. I promised you I’d stop.

It’s the beginning of Autumn when he comes into the story. He is fresh, he is regular, he is something new to try. And so you let him in. I am nothing now, just a minor character.

It’s well into Autumn when he allows his fingers to trace the soft pale skin below your dress.

The first time you say, that was exciting.

But I want to slap him across the face. What was he thinking?

The second time, you don’t tell me about until months later. The second time you say, wasn’t so fun. In fact, it’s ruined you. He’s ruined you. I want to slit his fucking throat. And I would have.

But it couldn’t have fixed you.

This is the part where the lies come in. Where you only tell me bits and pieces of things when you decide to tell me at all. Where you start hurting yourself and stop going out at night. Where you won’t let me do a goddamn thing. Where I ruin myself because I let him ruin you.

Autumn turns to winter and suddenly the fire is so scary, isn’t it?

I haven’t seen your smile in months, I feel only empty space where my heart should be. Will there be any snow at all this year?


A Silhouette That Isn’t In Your Head

“I wonder what it’s like to love you.” You say as we’re lying in my bed.

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, “I don’t think anybody ever has.”

And you give me a pitiful smile, the kind you always give when I

say something so negative about myself.

I guess I’m glad I’ve come to think of it as ‘commitment’ rather than ‘pity’.

I’ve let myself drown in you. I let myself become lost in your lifeless eyes

and I’m filled with regrets but I don’t regret a thing. Maybe I Regret Breathing.

You’ll let my ghost linger, just for awhile longer. You’ll let me be real to you.

And as I feel the smoothness of your silk black hair in my hands, I wonder

if I’ve ever really loved you or if I just loved how in love we could have been.