roaring winds dance with leaves that waver as gloomy skies spill their tunes
into the soil and you think to yourself this may be the happiest song I've heard all week.
your lover only left you, an abandoned glass of white wine, two months ago and
still your body shrinks itself at the sound of his name falling from the tongue of another person because
you know that that name now belongs to a stranger.
belongs to the body of someone you can no longer hold
and your fingers no longer know what it is to fold paper into heart.
the first conversation you've had in a year,
words fall like dominos when he tells you that he misses you too but as a friend
and your fingers, quivering, drag along the keyboard in fear of knocking over I still love you.
so you find indistinct ways of telling him that you still love him
like its been two years since we've last spoken to each other and I have
yet to find a new way to want to breathe without you.
each word you speak to him becomes a dead flower in the sun ready to be conjured
by his own words but his tongue does not know magic
does not know the words that would make you a living thing in this time of insatiable, yet dying lovers.
so you find a new way to cope with loss but this time it doesnt involve living.
but if he could tell you he loves you just one more time or if you could
just get the chance to hold him again and love him then maybe
the skies would be happier.
and you
you would want to breathe again
