I. The beginning



i.   we were standing by the docks, 
     your hand in my jeans pocket, 
     when you kick a pebble and 
      joke that you'd be late. 

ii.   late for what, i ask, 
      whipping around to face you,
      feeling my dark hair sting
      your metallic face like wasps.

iii.  my burial, you say,
      quietly as you withdraw 
      a hand from the back of my pocket 
      like it had never been there before. 

iv.   reschedule it, i say easily, 
      and somewhere my heart stains
      because i do not care much for death, 
      or life or any of my mental illnesses. 

v.   i feel your cold shoulder by my arm, 
     a sign of my ignorance, 
     but there is hardly space for both of us
     in the sleeve of my shirt.

vi.  i could drop you off, i say, 
     referring to the burial in passing, 
     in the hope that you might simply 
     dismiss the ardent thought.  

vii. it was too much to expect, i suppose 
      because i feel you slip away, 
      into the shadows of the river,
      leaving me alone once again. 

Comments

  1. This is inexplicably beautiful. I don't even have words right now. It's honestly so nice to see you writing again. I'm looking forward to reading more from you!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm so sorry for the late reply. I've been procrastinating the eff out of checking my blog. I just have no idea where I'm headed with this. I miss writing about random stuff and reading Ali and Sarah's random stuff. I honestly just miss the 2015 blogverse.

      I have been keeping up with your blog though, and I love your posts! So glad you're still writing!

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