Phone calls, lonely sheets.
Warm bodies, and cold feet.
Soft touch, hard kisses.
Imposed beliefs, and forgotten wishes.
Dancing silly, writing serious.
Long distance love is thought to be delirious.
Maybe they were right, since it's done now.
Though your contour still wrinkles in my sheets somehow.
Thinking of you I can feel happy, or I can feel numb.
You left behind far too many love crumbs.

Hands clinging to rocks against the mountain side,
strands of hair falling to my face.
Almost to the top, just one more step.
"Pull up your socks!" Everyone below yells, nagging me to do so.
I ignore, focusing to make my way to the peak.
"Pull up your socks!" The repeat, daggering at my toes.
I am anything but a child of theirs.
I continue on.
"Pull up your socks!" They scream again, my eyes rolling.
I arrive to the top.

Half empty, or half full - they say.
Little were they aware that you were both measurements at their limit.

You were fulfilled with promise, and a vision of joy. Although you lacked the hydration of returning favors, and drove me off before I could even start the engine.

I didn't know whether to take a drink, or to leave you stale.
I still don't know.