Thursday, November 18, 2010

From the ocean depths of burnt edged journals

He said one night that he felt so far
away from me even though I was
right beside him in his bed. With
clothes on, hands feeling wet
faces, wet with tears, sweat,
snot and gasps of trying
to understand the why.
Was it something I did
he asked.
What can I change, he wanted to know.
I just need time. I know that's a lie.

Talking to you, like a distant memory
with nothing to say except about the weather
or class or
we should do lunch,

I remember you
how you said you loved me more
than the wildflowers.

October 2004

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