The all-consuming moment when you realize
That your heart is a shattered vase,
Scattered across cold black tiles.
And your soul now carries a deep purple scar,
The kind that cannot be healed,

Generally comes with a sick realization
That you too, have probably broken too many a gentle heart,
And scarred too many a lonely soul,
Yourself.

Human nature is reciprocation.
Mothers teach to do unto others
As you'd have them do unto you.

But how can I do this?
How can I be loved and free,
When all I know of love is brokenness
And all I know of pure soul
Comes in a 6'2", blue-eyed package
That gave his away to this 5'5", blue-eyed mess.

You see me from afar.
With him.
I see the finely tuned cogs
Twisting and turning frantically in your mind,
I know you wonder.

What I would give to reach out
And reassure you of the simple fact,
That he is not,
Nor will ever be
You.

He may wear that blue sweater
Often
Because I complimented it long ago.
But you still wear that green shirt,
Quite often.
And that means more.

He may be my "type,"
And you most certainly were not.
But with you,
Never had I been so sure
Of a bad decision.

He may be charming,
Kind,
Gentle,
Perfect.
But you were intellectual,
Passionate,
Wild,
Mine.

He may be able to make me
Happy,
But you were able to make me
Me.

And that is why you should know,
That he's no you.
So he'll never be mine.

I am sorry.

I am sorry that I do not remember
Your favorite book
Anymore.
(Though you never read much, did you.)

I am sorry that I have forgotten
Most of your phone number
And all of your garage code, too.
Though I think it started with a 4.

I am sorry that I can no longer recollect
What you do on a Thursday afternoon
Or the silly name you call your grandmother
When you speak to her on the phone.

Oh, that's it.
Thats what you do on Thursdays.

I am sorry that my mind has prevented me
From remembering if you prefer
Chocolate or Vanilla.
Hey - you always did the baking, anyways.

But, to be quite honest,
I am more sorry for remembering.

I am sorry that I remember
The innocent, hopeful, wide-eyed smile you gave me
On our very first night.

I am sorry that I have not forgotten
When you lifted me onto your washing machine
Looked into my eyes,
And declared that you had never been so
Insanely,
Madly,
Passionately in love before.

I am sorry that I can still recollect
What you do almost every other night of the week.
Even Tuesdays.  Your "busy day."

I am sorry that my mind has just not allowed me
To be able to forget you.

They say that humans
Spend one quarter of their lives
Waiting.

Simply waiting.
In lines,
For busses,
On elevators.

For water to boil,
And for the rain to just please,
Please!
Stop already.

For babies to be born,
For "the big day,"
And dreams to become a reality.

But as for me, you see,
All I do
Is wait.

From the early start to my day,
To the last restless thought at night
I am waiting.

Praying
And waiting
For things to please
Please!
Get better.

What they don't tell you,
Is that no matter how much you wait
It does not fix
Anything.

So why do I let myself spend
Four quarters waiting
On an impossibility?

I cannot suppress the thought any longer.
That maybe, just maybe,
It is my own fault that
He has changed so.

Long gone is the boy
With the sweet blue eyes
With the sunflower yellow centers

Who would do anything
Anything
To spend a moment staring into mine.

Long gone is the boy
Who could transform from
Fits of anger, questioning
"Why do you let them treat you that way?"

To fits of tears
"The soap here smells like you and I miss you."
In an instant.

His carefully planned words resonating in my mind,
Then and now.

I do not know where this boy has gone.
Perhaps he was lost in the chaos of last July
When the sun had set
And our dismal future was left unsettled.

And he could not use his ever powerful words,
To convince me to stay.

Because all that remains of him
Is smoke and mirrors.
But mostly just smoke.
And a lot of lies.

And now he will do anything
Anything
To avoid my cold grey eyes.

We've both been left fighting for dominance,
Over who has it worse now.
Neither acknowledging the reality
That we have broken each other.

You’re gone.

But I admit,

At night I still wrap myself in your memory,

Just so I can remember what happiness is,

Even for a little bit.

For once I can breathe again,

Think again,

Feel again.

It’s summer and we’re driving

It’s raining and we’re dancing

It’s your basement and I feel beautiful.

But morning comes again too quickly,

And with that you leave too soon,

And again I am alone.

It’s Tuesday morning and I’m broken.

fleeting memories

flash in my mind

bringing pain in little winces

like a bee sting

or a quick burn from a ***

a searing pain at first

followed by a persistent throbbing.

I’m infatuated with your memories

I cannot let them go

despite how much

they tear me apart.