between pages of honey-scented books
with pages stuck together and some ripped out,
lies a forlorn chapter.
you reached down to smell it,
only to feel the irreversible tinge of nothing.
and that was the chapter of us.
carefully reading our chapter
has made me realize how
much things have changed.
is this what moving on feels like?
i no longer long for your presence
i no longer feel as if the purpose
of every mission is deleted when
you, as usual, recklessly leave it.
{leave me.}
now, whenever i see your name scribbled
onto the yellowed tapestry,
i don't think anything of it.
my clouds fill with indifference
but, i do wish you peace.
