She asked me why I still think about you.
I pondered, mulled, stalled and finally:
"You try. Until it hurts, until you can't;
And then you try harder, until it breaks."

Her eyes were fixated, watching--
waiting for the ripple on the surface.
"I still reach my hand for his,
I still listen for his footsteps."

"Silver linings, you see, they choke.
They peel away your best intentions,
leaving you only a hopeful resentment.
They force you to ignore the storm."

The pitying look she gave was violating.
"I still love him. I still miss him.
I want him to be happy.
I want the best for him."

The truth is, well the truth you see,
That charcoal cloud over my head,
The silver lining pulling tighter,
tighter,
around my neck, until I can't lie.

"I hope he's being choked by his silver lining."

Grimacing,
I woke to an overbearing brightness;
Not enough sleep again.
I thought about you and wished the light would retreat.
Wistful reminders of waking too early under your arm,
my head pulsating from lack of sleep--
I lay down and question my self worth.
Habitual.

I silently walk through a house that is not my own,
thick oak floors giving away my attempted discretion.
I move to a deck soaked in sunlight
tucking myself into a corner with a smoke.
My only crutch left.
I relive my last day with you.

"Where've you been?" 'Busy.'
"What are your plans?" Silence.
The corner of any room is where to find me.
Preferential.
Isolated and alone, until someone sees you.
One foot in, one foot out.
One hand reaching, one hand releasing.
My shortcomings help and hinder.

Everyone smiles at you in New Orleans.