One of these days or years someone might invent a time machine.
Then we could go back like you need.
Back to fix what I have stomped all over,
Broken then taped back together best I could.
But I have slippery fingers ( and eyes ) and I broke it again and again.
Until our time machine, reality tells me that the past is unamenable.
So accordingly this breakup was inevitable.
We can't return to the perfect beginning of us.
Perfect in your eyes but not in mine.
So I'm crying but I hope this is for the best.
No other option but to wait it out for a time machine.

The abstract expressionists wanted
to



strip



their work of associations
yearning for pure emotion
I didn't understand
but now I do.

Every song I've heard before
heard now
reminds me of my hollow heart
voices and instruments as phantom limb-reminders.

So I find weird instrumentals
electronic
trip-hop
stuff I never liked, things with nothing tied to them.

No summer love
no winter warm kisses
or new year of uncertainty.

It's my escape
into some kind of sensation
for
now.

"Could we find somewhere to sit? Do you know someplace with like, benches, and a fountain or something?"
He sips at an Icee, less of an Icee and more of a blend of colored sugar and foam because the machine is on the fritz.

Keeps asking he if I want some.
I give in, the idea of our tongues hooking onto the same straw
Slurping up the same brownish slush
Makes me warm.

I know it shouldn't,
that it's wrong to feel this way.

Back to the question,
"You mean like James Street?"
I answer, laugh
Then regret it.
He gets embarrassed
When I point out silly things he says.

He thinks I'm smarter than him.
He's too brilliant for that to be true.
He smiles and turns away his face,
Shyness, feigned or maybe not,
"I should have known that."

We go there now, that place it feels like I've been to hundreds of times with him
But realistically it's probably a few dozen at most.

I tell him it's alright, stop blushing.
So here we are, where we used to sit in a summer long past
I thought I could be with him forever,
Deep and premature infatuation
Though still lingering and creeping back into my fore-mind at the worst times

I feel that something's crept back into his as well.
He's acting nervous,
Keeps saying things and getting embarrassed for no reason.

My chest empties,
I think two years ago
I'd be happier with this.
But it's now.

When I'm home I drift to sleep with one question swimming in my head--
How many people can you love at once?

He's so sensitive and apologetic
when he remembers
he could lose me.

I like when he has to try.

Maybe he will change,
but who knows.

At least we're not married
with kids
and committed (fully).

Thank God.

“Haaa,” I sighed, releasing these stale tensions.
“I know it’s not so fair to be upset,”
But talks of ultrasounds and interventions,
Tinge everything that’s right with mild regret.

I sometimes ache for life as told by family photo albums,
And could-be love, as written in that diary,
Since everything once bright eventually succumbs
To  inevitable joy-expiry.

I sometimes worry
The pages will fly by
I wonder if I read
Closely enough

It’s hard to live
A life un-private.

A seasonal home.

Sleeping on a loveseat,
In a room where the TV is always on.
Constant headaches.
Lights and sounds that stab.
She sits by screens
All
Day.

And wonders why she is sad.

I fear
It will begin to spread.
I can’t escape, especially not at night.

I think I’ll take a shower.