there was always a comfort,
fabricated as it may have been,
in the way I knew how bad it was

just by the footsteps

I tried to write a poem for you.
I tried to put it in words.
but the only thing I can think to say is

I love you. and
Thank you.

I fall back into you
so easily
if we
were never meant to be
then why are you
my home

so badly I wish to be poetic
I drink my tea in the moonlight
take evening strolls in the rain

I bring a tattered notepad with me
to the café
to the museums
I choose my words so carefully

But I'm sitting alone,
at three in the morning
writing this "poem"

and I don't feel poetic at all