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Sidd
Don't come looking for me.
I never understood heartbreak thinking that would be a selfish love if everyone is still alive existing elsewhere as lovely as ever. I later found we are not ourselves-- I was not myself wrapped up and folded into you seamless under blankets, only adjacent to the sofa backing and mattress. When I decided to leave that night I felt us break as slow and ponderous as Pangea, I felt our distinctive ends begin. A part of me would not survive and I certainly killed something.
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Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC
Distinctive Ends
I'm still learning your English. I put more weight into the pauses because silence is what I am accustomed to. I can go for days without a word and you have gone longer. Our last conversation was another apology. We exist in in our withdrawals. Pockets of interactions we run out of. I am akin to your back alleys, your dealings with men without you saying a word. Do you also know I sit around the corner-- coping, too.
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Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC
Pockets
Punch drunk at the hotel he leaned against the elevator door, you are pushing my buttons. Buttons? Back to reality I told him and we slipped into our respective double beds. The next day he asked why I didn’t stay. I couldn't sleep. I didn’t tell him, I felt my heartbeat-- my body upright on the dark mattress. My phone lit, texting a sleeping friend and telling her I’m leaving here. Into a familiar old morning, punch drunk.
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Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
Don't Press.