i’ve always wondered
why it was so easy
for you to move on.

then i remembered,

when i was
moving out
of your heart,
lifting box after box
of clothes i own,
of items i bought,
outside your porch,
trying to take
everything i had left
— making sure i leave as little to no trace of me,

you were already
letting someone else in.

as i was cleaning out the pictures of us,
you were already replacing the frames with new ones.

as i was removing the covers of the bed, the sheets, the pillows,
you had a whole new set ready,
just waiting for me to leave.

as i was waiting for the cab to
pull through your driveway,
you were already expecting someone
coming your way.

and that’s how i knew.

if i wrote
a book,
the dedication
would be
like this:

“to everyone
who broke my heart,
who helped me
put it back together:
gave me
all types of
adhesives,
and
to those who
watched and cheered
as i build it back.”

i hope
that when the time comes,
the pieces of
your heart
that were
taken away
from you:

some you gave away
willingly,

but mostly were stolen
and you realizing it was
gone too late,

come back to you in another form.

another face,
another smile,
another embrace,
another set of hands to
hold again,

i hope it does come back to you

— replace what’s been taken

as if it was never broken in the first place.

i envy
the mirror
for always being
the first
and last
to see all of you;

how mesmerizing your smile is,
how dreamy your eyes are,
how the curves of your body
create slopes not even
the most beautiful mountains
could compare,

i wish i could see it all.

but unlike the mirror,

you can hear the words coming out of my mouth,
you can feel my embrace as i caress your skin
as if it were a vintage vase,
i could say something funny and then your smile will just effortlessly come out.

now,

the mirror should envy me;

for i could
see,
touch,
and feel,
the beauty
that is you.

i’ve tangled with a lot of bodies
after we ended.

i’ve knotted myself with different hearts
pretentiously knowing that this pain i’ve felt could be mended.

i’ve scrambled those ties in my hands and how easy it was for me to un-knot them.

one knot comes in, after a few days, weeks, or sometimes but not often, months, slowly it detangles itself and i leave untangled, unbroken, as if nothing went past these lines on my heart, my body, my lips, like it didn’t happen at all.

i thought those messy tangles i put myself into would be as hard as when we had to untangle ourselves — or just me, i guess — from the oh so short but very sweet time we’ve had together.

but, i was wrong.

i wasn’t left untangled,
i wasn’t unbroken.

i still had a little not, tied in between my heart, body, and lips, which i try so hard not to notice by putting myself out there, messing my own lines up till i catch someone who ends up letting go afterwards.

to you,

we’ve already part ways,

to me,

you barely left.

i wish you could untangle this knot you left.
i wish you could mess with mine again, and probably leave a bigger knot — so obvious that i’d give up trying to fix it.
i wish to see how your soft hands would carefully untie, over then under then pull and stretch, this knot and maybe i could finally figure out that it was so easy that i didn’t even need your help.

but you’re gone.

and i have to accept that.

it’ll take time before this untangles by itself so i’ll just let it be for awhile.

and when someone does come not only to tie their heart with mine,
but also untangle what you had left behind,
then i’ll be fine,
and know that now’s my time.