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Andrea Zapiain Dec 2019
Fiction is noble
me, not so much
weights and measures
restraint, silence
that was all you

I can't keep this locked away
and let it rot
or fester
or fade

I've never known how to leave
without turning memory
into a sword
forged by this unflinching truth

Never to be used, but sharp
never cruel
but inevitable

This pain is not inflicted by me,
not created by me, after all

All I ever did was love you
and what a brave thing that was
to entertain, even for a minute
that anyone could contain my fire
and not burn to the ground
Andrea Zapiain Nov 2019
I didn't ask to be burdened
with these memories
and no one to relive them with

biking underneath the bridge
ice cream at the strangest hours
staring out the window, blinds open wide into the night
the city lights
and only focusing on your face

the breakfast sandwiches, or waffles, or kisses
and afternoons on the couch
watching anything at all, all I saw was you
beside me, or a pretzel of limbs in bed
it doesn't even make sense in writing
just like this doesn't make sense alone

Christmas, chocolate, the way I was always cold
even in the summer
you would hold my hand inside your coat
slow down your pace, just for a little while
and kiss me at the stoplight

I still worry about you getting run over
and how little you sleep
and I wonder if you go by the water and think of me
I wonder if you go by the water at all

the letters with promises, now I see were empty
ideas of a future that I wonder if you wanted at all
the scarce pictures, the landscapes

you still have those presents, unopened
my bottles of shampoo
strands of hair that refuse to go away
and my trust in people,
my willingness to love
did I leave them back there too?
Andrea Zapiain Nov 2019
There's no picture of this,
no picture of most things about us

the weightlessness of floating,
the indoors solitude, your arms
spinning me around in the cold water
the intimacy of letting my body float
be carried wherever you wanted
kept warm, safe

I trusted you, completely
foolishly, lovingly
I never expected to drown
or to mourn pictures that were never taken

I wish my memory wasn't so good
and I could forget your arms
and the temperature of the water
the cabin

at least to remember with less detail
with less emotion
with a clinical eye
with an artistic interest
without this awful love
Andrea Zapiain Nov 2019
There’s a city that I can never go back to
crystal clear, sharp edged wind
tinted with saltwater and ink,
I found the sunlight among the green
the reflection of the Lost Lagoon

I didn’t know I was only looking at myself
even though you were there with me
in the stillness
I didn’t know stillness could ****

Love was not enough
Enough is never quite enough

I still know me, after all
voracious, wondering what it all could be, unafraid
maybe I was clinging to another reflection
on a dim lit skytrain station
or the warmth of a family that felt just like mine

But enough was never quite enough

I’d like to trace the outlines of those old buildings again
not quite beautiful, not quite old, perfectly haunted
the pieces of this heart are the same
a shattered mirror I’ll have to use as a map
I refuse to cut myself reconstructing
so abstract will have to do

Love was not enough for you

Learned behaviour is hard to dismantle
and this map I made in my mind now leads nowhere
the doors are open, but useless

I would have worn white for you
even though it’s the last colour I would choose
that makes me not a fool, but brave

I still want you here, despite my best moral objections
but stillness was enough, quite enough to make it impossible

And I was more than enough
too much water, too much life
too many lives not forgotten
too many futures laid out and planned
dreams that I would not dispose of

Now your letters take up space
your couch, with us in it
and something playing, doesn’t matter what it was

I wish you weren’t so much like ink
and I could erase the traces easily, find everything I loved anew
just by myself

it took me so long to figure out what I was at all
and all those years, not wasted, but painful
ink spilling over the past and my future
a future that is after all, mine, it was always just mine

with this overworked imagination
and this hopeful, naive heart
and this bravery, this disregard of pain

I won’t let myself close off to the coming breeze
and if pain must overflow, then it will
I wouldn’t erase anything, even if it were etched in pencil
because I am who we were,
Complete, not half
there was always more of me, after all
overflowing, as I usually do
with my words, and my tears, and my love

I should have known
Enough was never enough
not for me either
even if I wanted it to be

And one day it will be,
because it won’t be just enough
it will be everything
and I won’t have to ask
or wonder
or hurt

Maybe I’ll come back to this forbidden city
and there will be no rivers of ink
no need to cry cold tears
or miss what could have been

Maybe it was never there at all
perhaps it was my overflowing imagination
and my pain
and my wonder
and my writing
and my love

I know love will come back without you
which now seems the worst punishment
but perhaps in the future will only be joy
because there will be so much more than just enough.
Andrea Zapiain Aug 2017
I want to know about your quiet desperation
and the thoughts that lurk beneath

I want to know if you curse
when a leaf cuts through your skin
and what's the name of the first girl you loved

And how you have the same questions as I do
about the strange orbiting suns crossing the sky

If you listen to the wind or only the music on your earbuds
and if the sea makes you cry, like it does me
and if it makes you just as free

I wonder what you see when I cry in silence
about things that I always fail to articulate
and if you ever think of my accent as foreign or simply mine

I want to know if you feel the way my skin burns against yours
and all my fears disperse when you're near
and if you liked to play ball when you were eight

If your mom's favourite dish brings bittersweet memories
or just happy ones, and maybe I'm the one who's too nostalgic
about things that are unnamed, unmarked

If you ever walked along the streets in Paris and wanted to scream
at the very top of your lungs that life is beautiful
and I wonder if I feel like a piece of the puzzle
or simply a nice addition to a life that already felt complete
and so many other questions that any sensible person
would keep to themselves

and yet you say you love me
Andrea Zapiain Jun 2017
Indecision attempted to drown me

I learned to swim through its tortuous streams
made friends with the fish
wrapped my arms around algae,
dived for pearls

But my legs grew tired
the fish swam downstream.

As I grasped for air
Time started on number one, exactly where it stopped
two decades, and two years
all the hundreds I can't remember
all the thousands that left no trace

But I didn't transform into foam
and when my feet touched land I knew
indecision tried to drown me
because I never belonged to the water
and my destiny was to fly.
Andrea Zapiain Jan 2017
I seem to have left, unknowingly
tethering from the edge of a familiar window
drowning on a coffee stain
in the eyes of a memorable stranger
or hanging from the torn pieces
of my least favorite letter,
a strand of red string

It used to bind me together
tightly, perfectly
almost simulating a whole

The brick and mortar
the absolute, terrible choices
the beautiful aftermath
now left behind.

Perhaps, forever.

I flew away
the North roaring, soaring

I burned enough bridges
to shine with the fire of a thousand Suns
so why do I feel so cold?

The gleaming city
the sunrise, somehow off
what exactly did I want before?

The string disintegrated into
a hundred different useless words
What good is my cursed vocabulary?
All I wanted to say was made of porcelain
all I ever was or could have been
deflected by the gleaming possibility
of a life away from predisposition
and even that, my friends, is a lie!

This is my warning, my truth, my curse;
I only ever learned how to unravel.
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