there were soap suds on the living room floor the day i got the call
it's such an insignificant detail, but i can't get it out of my head
some nights i dream of clouds
that slowly morph into soap suds
and a blue sky
that slowly morphs into hardwood
and i am melting into sheets,
melting wide awake

i was dripping wet all over the couch
in a pink bath robe
sipping whiskey from a mason jar
that you left on my bedroom floor

i heard his voice break
when he said your name the second time
and i tried to pretend
my heart wasn't breaking to the tone of his decline

i broke a nail fastening my seat belt
the following day,
and cried so hard
i had to pull over

it's the little things in grief
that hit the hardest

you are faking
just fine
until you're not
and then one day
you look into a mirror
that you are passing by,
and you are struck by
the tragedy in your eyes
and you pray you're the only one
who can see it
but you know you're not

dark red circles
under tired brown
and white hope,
you are veins
extended
you are ribs
caving
and smeared
mascara
you are
pink lips
and
pale skin
and you are
dull
in a city
full of
magic

and that makes you angry-
angry is a new feeling
so it knocks the air
from your lungs
as you pretend to type
on a black keyboard
in a tan office building

you swear some
invisible force
is pressing it's elbow
to your chest
and you're not sure
if you want it to
let up

you were
vibrant in the night,
lime green
and electric blue hues
illuminating my pillow cases

this place is gray-
when did the fog
dim the street lights,
seep into the coffee shops,
wrap it's calloused hands
around studio apartments,
and lines to registers
in grocery stores
for miles?

or was it there all along-
you, with bright yellow words
and hot pink kisses,
were perhaps only a distraction,
a white light
in a sea of navy blue darkness-
when they came to shut you out
the colorlessness
of weekday living
between subway stations
and bus terminals
was suddenly visible
to the naked eye?

for the first time, maybe
i was just another
naked eye

this is the terminal
the point of connection
and disconnection
this is the terminal
the irreversible end
of something greater
than whiskey in a mason jar
this is the terminal
im waving goodbye to something,
as it exits the city,
im not sure what
but i know
it's never coming back