I used to beg for him to just
Stand in the doorway
I would kneel on the edge of our bed
Saying his name repeatedly as he slipped through the front door.
I found this comfort in my mania
In my starvation
He left me emaciated,
Never fully satisfied I would stumble through our apartment
Picking up inanimate objects and throwing them at the wall
Watching as they plummeted to the ground
I could feel the sigh of relief
Immeasurable to what he used to do to me
He provided the healthy appetite of rage
With each door click
Each time he slowly said my name
Licking vowels clean
The frustration his fingertips
Sprouted
His plane landing on the other side of the world
He was closest to me when he couldn’t see
The outlines of my freckles
But instead the visions
He’d manifested in his own head
The first time he told me he loved me
I felt the bed shake as the words fell out
You could see the regret
Instantaneous, he’d forgotten that loving
Meant more than being attached to the heartbeat
meant loving my mania
Meant loving my forgiveness
Meant loving open doors
It meant feeding me until I was full,
I believed him only when he was disappointed,
when he was too drunk to remember
The moments when he finally let his eyes wander
When he closed his lips to kiss me
Screaming through the phone
The final seconds
When his words were always
“I have to go, I have to go.”