MY WRISTS HURT.
I wonder if yours do too.
Sometimes I'll find something funny and I'll
find myself thinking of you and
sometimes I hear your voice
echoing in my head. Only if
my eyes are shut and if I sit still; barely breathing.
Sometimes I hold my breath and I remember.
The thing is—I'd rather not.
Your name is still bright red on my tongue—
I don't know whether I am
grieving over something
I never had
in the first place.
I sat in a coffee shop today. I wondered what
you would have said if you sat across me.
Maybe you'd comment on my choice of drink.
Maybe I'd comment on yours.
-- we could have lied in the darkness together;
my clammy hands in yours.
It wouldn't be love.
(But I'd bury my nose in the hollow of your neck anyway.)
I'd have liked to walk your dog with you.
I like dogs and I had liked you.
Maybe I would have kissed you as we
walked down the streets of
your neighbourhood together;
the both of us lonely
and wanting someone better.
I was never good enough for you.
But funnily enough,
you weren't good enough for me, too.
Hate grew in me like
a vine that threatened to consume me.
I despised myself for relying so much on you
when I barely knew you.
The thing is:
You knew me better than I knew myself.
Maybe I gave you too much praise.
I was weak—
I am weak.
I see you in places where you shouldn't be.
Here's a funny thing:
You never knew how you felt about me.
Here's another:
Neither did I.
You deserve someone better.
(I never wanted you).
Maybe I wanted your hand in mine;
Maybe I wanted companionship.
Maybe I wanted your fingers around my neck; squeezing—
But I never wanted you.
It's funny to think that you thought the same.
I guess we can both
let go now.
Or at least,
I can.
(You let go at the start).
