Finally snapped that thread, I think,
that strand of connection that
held my affection
for the person I thought I felt I saw
inside
the man I never saw
in real life.
I was your distraction
while you were the extraction
of what I wanted from 'us',
just friendship with that frisson of more,
that spark, that 'maybe just once'
that made me feel less of what I am
and more of who I'd like to be.
But by taking what I needed I'm left
with something real
some thing I really feel,
a warmth, a tug towards you
an elasticity of acceptance that
slithers uncomfortably around your
brittle arm holding life safely back.
Unconditionality an attack.
One more try, in the spirit of this really real regard.
'Hey man, how are you? let's talk'.
Don't can't won't answer. Banter, yes. Connection? Too hard.

That look.
That look. It has kept me up, got me through.
You desired me.
Where did it go?
Is it me? Was it you?
The something that was there for so long
it seems.
You saw me, and wanted me anyway.
Or thought you did.
Has it really gone?
Where do I put my sadness?
Do I pour it back into myself, through the cuts in
my skin from my vicious words?
Of course he went off me.
He saw me.
Or do I blame you?
User. Liar. Wanter. Coward. Weak.
Or do I just find a way to live with the sadness
that we wanted each other but couldn't
have each other. You weren't mine to have, even
if you wanted to be.
So where has it gone? Our connection, our
attraction, our lust and hope?
It stays with me as the lump in my throat when
I think of our diverging futures.
As the silent goodnight I say to the side which
has now become 'yours'.
As the dream-you who visits me often.
As the hope I cling to for 'one day'.
But not this day.