he grips me tightly, urgently
telling me that if i leave him, it will
break his heart.

and as i sit here, clutching
the bits of my heart that fall
through my hands, i cry for him.

as if i have tears to spare, i cry
for him – my broken heart
was merely exquisite practice

Sometimes,
I think that at the end of it all -
            I'll find
                          you.
Waiting not idly,
Smiling, knowing,
             With your open hand
                             stretched out
                                          to grasp mine.

a shudder, a sigh -
without release,
                          you press on
without moving,
                          I leave