and most of my friends don't know you exist because i was too embarrassed to admit that the one who preached compassion without attachment had finally fallen off of the marble pedestal i commanded out of the ground for myself because i've always been self-absorbed.
and i tell myself that i've cleansed myself of every part of you, scrubbing for hours in the shower every night from my dry scalp to underneath my fingernails and i'll scrub and scrub until i bleed but despite all of that i've always lied compulsively and so maybe that's why i still pick up a plant every time i see one in need at the store, just like you used to do.
and pretty soon my small apartment will be overgrown but i don't care and i'm starting to wonder if i ever did. perhaps that sympathetic apathy was hidden inside of me all along and you were just the one who lit that forgotten, dusty candle but i'm the one who has to live in the ashes.
and i still pin the receipts to my window after i've colored them as many colors as it takes to describe how i'm feeling and how i've been feeling since the day i was born but increasingly so since you've left.
YOU ARE READING
the shepherd's sword
Random[the things we dare not say aloud] the walls have faces, you know. the angels do not.
